
Book . Gsl 



SMITHSONIAN DEPOSIT 



7 

NEW 

RHETORICAL READER 

AND . \, 

/ " 5- 

• ELOCUTIONIST; 

CONTAINING} 

NUMEROUS PIECES EOR READING AND DECLAMATION, 

SELECTED FROM THE 

CHOICEST WRITINGS OF BRITISH AND AMERICAN AUTHORS, 

AND DESIGNED 

FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES. 



[jnBILDEB, A.M. ^° 




WITH AN INTRODUCTION, ° 1>" 

IN WHICH THE ESSENTIAL PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION ARE SIMPLIFIED AND 

EXPLAINED IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE INSTRUCTIONS OF THE 

BEST MODERN ELOCUTIONISTS. 



NEW YORK: 

PUBLISHED BY J. C. RIKER, 

i?9 FULTON STREET. 

1852. 



'PH-fa-oX 



r* c — ! 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by 

J. C. R I K E R , 
In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New York. 



PREFACE. 

When a new school book is ushered into the world, it is 
customary for the author or publisher to claim for it supe- 
riority over all its predecessors, or to present it to teachers 
as necessary to meet a want that has long been felt and 
acknowledged. The compiler of the New Rhetorical 
Reader, unfortunately, it may be, cannot come before the 
public under circumstances so favorable. His work is 
probably no better than some others, nor does he know that 
the interests of education are suffering from the want of it : 
but his long experience as a teacher has qualified him, he 
believes, to prepare a reading book, which will be found 
valuable to those to whom is confided the training of the 
rising generation. The selections have been made with the 
greatest care ; and it will be seen, that while those who are 
generally regarded as the standard writers of our language 
have been liberally made use of, these pages are enriched 
by names not heretofore found in works of this class. In 
meeting with old and favorite extracts the teacher will bear 
in mind, that what is familiar to him must be new to every 
successive generation ; and, therefore, that all books of 
selections should contain a portion of such pieces as have 
been sanctioned by the taste and judgment of those who 
have gleaned from the same rich field. In regard to the 
remaining portions of the " Reader," the propriety of their 



Vlll PREFACE. 

selection will be abundantly justified by a careful examina- 
tion of their merits. To some this may prove the most 
valuable feature of the work ; for while its literary excel- 
lence is by no means affected thereby, its moral tone will be 
seen to be vastly improved. 

In the Introduction will be found all the essential rules o£ 
elocution. These are few and simple. A complicated 
treatise might present the appearance of profound erudition, 
and make a stronger impression of the literary value of the 
" Reader" upon the mind of the pupil, but every experienced 
teacher knows how entirely useless it would be for any 
practical purpose. 

"Nothing," says James Sheridan Knowles, "should be 
allowed to supersede Nature. Let her therefore stand in 
the foreground. The reader abuses his art, who betrays, 
by his delivery, that he enunciates by rule. Emotion is the 
thing. One flush of passion upon the cheek — one beam of 
feeling from the eye — one thrilling note of sensibility from 
the tongue — one stroke of hearty emphasis from the arm — 
have a thousand times the value of the most masterly ex- 
emplifications of all the rules, that all the rhetoricians, of 
both ancient and modern times, have given us for the 
government of the voice, when that exemplification is un- 
accompanied by such adjuncts." 

It may be well to state, in concluding these few prefa- 
tory remarks, that a Juvenile Reader and one for the use 
of young ladies, on the same plan, are in preparation, and 
will appear as soon as circumstances shall justify their pub- 
lication. 

■Flushing, L. I. 1 852 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Principles of Elocution, 15 

I. Articulation, 16 

II. Inflection and Modulation, 17 

Table of Inflections, 19 

Exercises on the Inflections, 21 

Modulation, 22 

Examples, 23 

Shift of the Voice, 26 

Imitative Modulation, 28 

Pauses, 29 

III. Emphasis, SO 

IV. Gesture, 32 

General Rules, 34 

Interrogation, 34 

Exclamation 36 

Compact Sentence, 37 

Negative Sentence, 38 

Concession, 39 

Parenthesis, 40 

Series, 41 

Commencing Series, 41 

Concluding Series, 42 

Emphasis,. 43 

Climax, 45 

Anti-Climax, 46 

Echo, or Repetition, 46 

Circumflex, 47 

Monotone, 47 



LESSONS IN" PROSE. 
[The names of American writers are in small capitals.'] 

IiESSON PaGK 

1. Responsibilities of the Young, Dr. Olin 49 

2. The Two Pictures, Horace Mann 51 

3. Sea-Sickness, Rev. Dr. Fisk 53 

1* 



X CONTENTS. 

Lesson age 

4. Future Prospects of the American Continent, 

Encyclopaedia Britannica 55 

5. Human Progress, Chapin 57 

6. Damon and Pythias, Brooke 59 

7. On the Abuse of Genius, with reference to the Works of 

Lord Byron, Knowles 62 

11. Against the American War, Lord Chatham 68 

12. Reply to the Duke of Grafton, Lord Thurlow 71 

13. Speech in Favour of the War of the Revolution, 

Patrick Henry 72 

14. Supposed Speech of John Adams in favour of signing the 

Declaration of Independence, D. Webster 74 

15. Character of Napoleon Bonaparte, Channing 77 

16. Character of Washington, Lord Brougham 79 

20. Eloquence and Logic. From an Eulogy on H. S. Legare, of 

South Carolina, W. C. Preston 84 

21. A Visit to Holyrood Palace, Rev. George Peck, D.D. 87 

22. The Complaining Spirit, Rev. C. F. Deems 89 

24. A Christian viewing Death, Dewey. 91 

25. In favour of acknowledging the Independence of Greece, 

Henry Clay 92 

27. In favour of the American Revolution, Josiah Quincy 96 

28. Dignity of Human Nature Dewey. 98 

29. An Exhortation to the Study of Eloquence Cicero 99 

32. The Lumberer's Story — A Forest on Fire,. . .J. J. Audubon 102 

33. The Heavenly Bodies, Chalmers 105 

34. The same Subject continued, Chalmers 108 

35. The true Source of Reform, Chapin 110 

37. Employment of Winter Evenings by the Young,. .Prentice 112 

40. Character of Pitt, Grattan 116 

41. Decision of Character, Rev. D. Wise 118 

42. Story of the Siege of Calais, Brooke 119 

43. The same Story continued, Brooke 121 

45. America and Ireland, C. Phillips 127 

46. Tribute to Washington, C. Phillips 1 29 

47. Self-Government, Bishop Hedding 131 

48. Christianity disarms Death, Rev. Dr. Winans 133 

49. The Seen and the Unseen, Ephraim Peabodv. 134 

50. The Dignity of Labour, Rev. Dr. McClintock. 137 

51. Danger of -Prematurely Tasking the Mental Powers of the 

Young, A. Brigham 1 39 

52. Early Historv of Kentucky, N. A. Review. 142 

53. The Fall of Napoleon, C. Phillips 144 

57. Byron and his Poetry T. B. Macaulay 150 

58. Origin of the French Revolution, Channing 153 

62. Our Obligations as American Citizens, D. Webster 158 

63. In favour of Permitting the Return of the British Refugees, 

Patrick Henry 160 

65. Eulogistic of Adams and Jefferson, Edward Everett 163 

66. In Commemoration of the Completion of the Bunker-Hill 
Monument, , D. Webster . 164 



C0N1ENTS. XI 

l.Ksst. m Page 

69. Fulton and his Invention, ..Mr. Justice Stoey 170 

70. On being installed Rector of the University of Glasgow, 

Lord Brougham 1*71 
12. Bigotry, Rev. G. G. Cookman 175 

73. Duty, Rev. R. Emory, D.D. 177 

74. Errors in Family Government, Bishop Andrew 179 

76. The Harbor of Rio de Janeiro, Rev. Dr. Kidder 184. 

81. Character of Schiller, Thomas Carlyle 190 

82. Law, Stevens 192 

83 Contributions of the New World to the Old, D. Webster 194 

84. Peroration to the Invective against Warren Hastings, 

Sheridan 196 

85. Panegyric on the Eloquence of Sheridan, Burke 197 

86. Death of Little Nell, Charles Dickens 198 

91. Young Men, Rev. Dr. Olln 20S 

92. The Proper Object of Ambition,. .... .W. H. Allen, LL.D. 210 

94. Moral and Religious Culture,. Rev. E. W. Sehon, D.D. 213 

96. Rolla to the Peruvians, Sheridan 215 

99. Night, Rev. Abel Stevens 218 

100. Infancy Rev. E. Thomson, D.D. 219 

101. On Aiming for War with England, 1811 H. Clay 221 

106. Rainy Weather, . . . .W. H. Simmons 227 

107. Hannibal to his Soldiers, Livy 228 

111. Learning not unfavorable to Religion, Bishop Emory 235 

112. Originality in Literature, . .James Strong 286 

114. Character of Columbus, W. Irving 239 

115. A Ship under Full Sail, R. H. Dana, Jr. 241 

116. From his Inaugural Address on Entering upon the Presi- 

dency of the United States, Jefferson 242 

117. Repudiation of the Charge of French Influence during the 

War of 1812, H. Clay 245 

118. Indifference to Popular Elections, G. McDuffie 247 

119. Brutus on the Death of Cassar, ShaJcspcare 249 

120. Cuntentment, Bishop Morris 250 

121. Education Promotive of Happiness, Bishop Janes 251 

122. On Increasing the Army, preparatory to the War of 

1812, " J. C. Calhoun 252 

127. Exhortation against Subjection to Foreign Influence, 

George Washington 259 

128. Adams and Jefferson, W. Wirt 260 

129. Anecdote of Napoleon, Duchess d'Abrantes 262 

130. The Baptism of Jesus, Rev. Dr. Durbin 264 

131. The Dignity of Music, Rev. B. F. Tefft, D.D. 265 

132. A Belief in God, Rev. Dr. Wightman 267 

133. Christianity the Basis of Civilization, Rev. R. Watson 269 

137. The Jubilee of the Constitution, J. Q. Adams 275 

138. A Literary Dinner, Irving 277 

142. The Voice of the Past, Professor Larrabee 284 

143. Truth and Error, Rev. Leroy M. Lee, D.D. 286 

144. Edmund Burke, Blackwood's Magazine 287 

145. Character of Lord Bacon, T. B. Macaulay 289 



Xll CONTENTS. 

Lesson Page 

349. On Legal Reform, G. C. Verplanck 296 

150. Capabilities of Humanity, S. S. Randall 298 

158. Christian Courtesy, Summerfield 311 

159. The Falls of Niagara, Rev. J. Dixon, D.D. 312 

1 60. The Poetry of the Bible, Rev. Dr. Bangs 315 

161. Popular Education,. Rev. Dr. Bethune 316 

163. The Triumph of Christianity, Bishop Basoom 319 

164. On the Public Worship of God, Rev. Dr. Summers 321 

165. Pepper Dust. From the Life of Samuel Budgett, 

William Arthur, AM. 322 

167. The Bible, Rev. Dr. G. F. Pierce 325 

168. The Indifference of the World toward its Benefactors, 

Rev. Dr. Kennaday 327 

110. The Women of Germany, Anonymocs 329 

172. The Employment of Leisure Hours, Rev. Daniel Smith 332 

1.73. The Value of Integrity in Business, Rev. D. Wise 333 



LESSONS IN VERSE 

8. The Rainbow, Campbell 64 

9. The Battle-Field, W. C. Bryant 65 

10. The Broken Heart, ! Percival 67 

17. Washington's Monument, Anonymous 81 

18. Corn Fields Mary Howitt 82 

19. Abou Ben Adhem, Leigh, Hunt 84 

23. To One Departed T. K. Hervey 90 

26. The Statue of the Belvidere Apollo, Rev. H. H. Milman 94 

30. The Muse's Hopes for America, Bishoj) Berkeley 101 

31. Cleopatra Embarking on the Cydnus T. K. Hervey 101 

36. A Psalm of Life, .H. W. Longfellow 111 

38. Books, Robert Southey 1 14 

39. Helvellyn,. Walter Scott 1 15 

44. Elegy in a Country Churchyard, Gray 123 

54. God is Every Where, Hugh Hutton 146 

55. The Destruction of Sennacherib, Byron 147 

56. Hymn before Sun-rise, in the Vale of Chamouni, . .Coleridge 148 

59. The Might with the Right, Anonymous 155 

60. Art, Charles Sprague 1 56 

61. Old Ironsides, O. W. Holmes 157 

64. To a Child Anonymous 162 

67. Ode to the Saviour, Milman 166 

68. The Ocean, Barry Cornwall 168 

71. Lochiel's Warning. Campbell 173 

75. Discontent. — A Vision, Rev. Mark Trafton. 181 

77. The American Flag, J. R. Drake 18fi 

78. To a City Pigeon, N. P. Willis 187 

79. The First of March, Horace Smith 188 

80. Where is He ? , Henry Neele 189 

87. The Eternity of God, JST.C. Brooks 202 



CONTENTS. Xlll 

Lesson Page 

88. Not on the Battle Field, J. Pierpont 204 

89. Hours of Idleness, Wordsworth 206 

90. Fame Joanna Baillie 207 

93. On the Being of a God,. , Young 211 

95. Henry V.'s Speech before the Battle of Agincourt, Ibid 214 

97. Cato's Soliloquy on the Immortality of the Soul,. .Addison 216 

98. The Coral Grove, J. G. Percival 217 

102. Love, Southey 222 

103. America to Great Britain, Washington Allston 223 

104. Cardinal Wolsey's Speech to Cromwell, Shakspeare 224 

105. The Mariner's Dream, Dimond 225 

108? Marco Bozzaris, Halleck 229 

109. Hymn to the Stars, Anonymous 231 

110. The Passions, Collins 232 

113. Van Artevelde's Defence of his Rebellion, Ibid 237 

123. The Antiquity of Freedom, Bryant 254 

124. Charade on the Name of the Poet Campbell,. . W. M. Praed 256 

125. Confidence in God, Addison 257 

126. To One in Affliction, J. Montgomery 258 

134. Consumption, Percival 270 

135. Heaven in Prospect, H. Vaughan 273 

136. Address to the Ocean, Byron 274 

139. Melancholy Fate of the Indians, C. Sprague 280 

140. The Future Life, Bryant 282 

141. Satan's Reproof of Beelzebub, Milton 283 

1 46. On the Downfall of Poland, Campbell 291 

147. Saturday Evening, Bulwer 292 

148. God, Bowring 293 

151. The Poet of Solitude, Shelley 299 

1 52. Quarrel Scene from Douglas, Rev. John Home 301 

153. The Child of Earth, Caroline Norton 304 

154. The Soul's Glimpses of Immortality, Jane Taylor 305 

155. Rienzi's Address to the Men of Rome, Miss Mitford 306 

156. The Missing Ship, '. .Epes Sargent 307 

157. Napoleon and the British Sailor, Campbell 309 

162. God in his Works, William Ford 318 

166. Tears, O. J. Victor 324 

169. The Sunset Hour, Rev. H. P. Andrews 328 

171. Our Village, .W. J. Kearney 330 

174. Jesus at the Tomb of Lazarus, Mrs. R. S. Nichols 334 



NEW RHETORICAL READER, 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

Elocution, as a department of ornamental education, 
i% the art of speaking and reading according to a certain 
established standard of elegance. Instruction in the art 
may be said to have two objects, good colloquial or con- 
versational speech, and the power of reading aloud and 
making formal addresses with effect. Some persons, when 
called upon to read or speak before a considerable multi- 
tude, deliver themselves in an ungainly manner ; while 
others charm all who are present. It must be obvious, 
that to bring out the best powers of the voice, and extend 
the gift of agreeable speaking beyond the comparatively 
small circle in which it is usually found, are objects of 
considerable importance. 

Elocution is divided into — 

I. Articulation and Pronunciation ; under which are 
comprehended, distinctness, force, and freedom from pro- 
vincialisms. 

II. Inflection and Modulation, w T hich have a regard to 
the slides, shifts, and pauses of the voice, natural to cer- 
tain constructions of language, and suited, with other 
modifications of the voice, as to force, height, and time, 
to the expression of certain sentiments and passions. 

III. Emphasis, which is to be guided by the compara- 
tive importance of words in a sentence. 

IV. Gesture, comprehending those attitudes, motions, 
and looks, which are suitable to certain passions, and 
j.end force or embellishment to the meaning of the speaker 



16 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



I. ARTICULATION. 



" Speech," says Channing, "is one of our grand dis- 
tinctions from the brute. A man was not made to shut up 
his mind in itself, but to exchange it for other mind 
Our power over others lies not so much in the amount of 
thought within us, as in the power of bringing it out. A 
man of more than ordinary intellectual vigour may, for 
want of the faculty of expression, be a cipher, without 
significance, in society. And not only does a man influ- 
ence others, but he greatly aids his own intellect, by giv- 
ing distinct and forcible utterance to his thoughts. Our 
social rank, too, depends a good deal on our power of 
utterance. The principal distinction between what are 
called gentlemen and the vulgar, lies in this : that the lat- 
ter are awkward in manners, and are especially wanting 
in propriety, clearness, grace, and ease of utterance." 

A good articulation consists in giving every letter in a 
syllable its due proportion of sound, according to the most 
approved custom of pronouncing it, and in making such a 
distinction between the syllables, of which words are com- 
posed, that the ear shall, without difficulty, acknowledge 
their number, and perceive, at once, to which syllable each 
letter belongs. Where these points are not observed, the 
articulation is proportionally defective. 

Correct articulation is the most important exercise 01 
the voice and of the organs of speech. A public speaker, 
possessed only of a moderate voice, if he articulate cor- 
rectly, will be better understood, and heard with greater 
pleasure, than one who vociferates without judgment. 
The voice of the latter may, indeed, extend to a consider- 
able distance ; but, the sound is dissipated in confusion ; 
of the former voice, not the smallest vibration is wasted ; 
every stroke is perceived at the utmost distance to which 
it reaches, and hence it has often the appearance of pen- 
etrating even farther than one, which is loud but badly ar- 
ticulated. 

In just articulation the words are not to be hurried 
over, nor precipitated syllable over syllable: nor, as it 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 17 

were, melted together into a mass of confusion : they 
should be neither abridged, nor prolonged, nor swallowed, 
nor forced, and, (if I may so express it,) shot from the 
mouth -, they should not be trailed, nor drawled, nor let to 
slip out carelessly, so as to drop unfinished ; no, they are 
to be delivered out from the lips, as beautiful coins, newly 
issued from the mint, deeply and accurately impressed, 
perfectly finished, neatly struck by the proper organs, dis- 
tinct, sharp, in due succession, and of due weight. 

The difficulty of acquiring a correct articulation being 
unusually great in the English language, the foundation 
should be laid at that early age when the organs are most 
tractable. 

Pronunciation points out the proper sounds of vowels 
and consonants, and the distribution of accent on sylla- 
bles. As pronunciation is better, because more amply, 
taught in Dictionaries, it is unnecessary to attempt to give 
any rules for it in this place. 

IT. INFLECTION AND MODULATION. 

An inflection is a bending or sliding of the voice either 
upwards or downwards. There are two inflections ; the 
one, called the Upw T ard, or Rising Inflection ; the other, 
the Downward, or Falling Inflection. In more simple 
terms — there is one inflection, which denotes that the sense, 
or meaning of the sentence is suspended, as, 

To be carnally minded' ; 
t nd another, which denotes that the sense is completed, as, 

is death\ 
To be carnally minded' — is — death\ 

To give a practical example, that must be understood 
by the dullest comprehension : — I am to give a person, 
two, three, four, five, or ten dollars — say, I am to give him 
five dollars. In counting, I must pronounce up to the 
fourth number with the rising inflection ; that is, with the 
inflection denoting incompletion, thus : — 

One'— Two'— Three'— Four"— Five\ 
The numbers up to four are pronounced with the rising 



18 new RHETORICAL READER. 

inflection ; and nature dictates, that the numbers, one, 
two and three, which merely imply continuation, shall be 
pronounced with a less degree of the same inflection, than 
number " Four,' 7 which not only denotes continuation, 
but, it must denote, at the same time, by the greater ele- 
vation of the voice, that the next number completes the 
sum to be given. Let us apply this principle to sentences : — 

The knowledge' — power' — wisdom' — and 
goodness of God" — must all be unbounded. v 

Here is a sentence, w T hich consists of five divisions, or 

t roups ; up to the fourth is pronounced with the rising in- 
ection ; the fourth, with a greater degree of the same in- 
flection than the previous divisions, to denote that the next 
closes the enumeration. 

They, through faith, subdued kingdoms' — 
wrought righteousness' — obtained promises' 
— stopped the mouths of lions' — quenched 
the violence of fire' — escaped the edge of the 
sword' — out of weakness, were made strong' 
— waxed valiant in fight" — and turned to 
flight the armies of the aliens\ 

This sentence contains nine groups, that fall within our 
rule ; the terminating words of which are ; Kingdoms — 
righteousness — promises — lions— fire — sword — strong — 
fight — aliens. Up to the eighth is pronounced with the 
rising inflection : "fight" the last word of the eighth 
division, is not only uttered with the rising inflection, but 
with such an additional degree of it, as to make the 
hearer aware, that the next grouping will finish the 
subject. 

* Before the pupil begins to study the rules of inflection, 
it is absolutely necessary that he understand distinctly the 
nature of the slides, and be able to inflect with ease, and 
in a full and sonorous voice. Many who instruct them- 
selves, are apt, when they see the mark of the rising in- 
flection on a word, to pronounce that word with loudness 
merely ; and when they see the falling mark on a word, 
to give that word in a weak voice. Now, one may slide 
the voice to a great height, and yet not speak in a loud 
tone ; and to a great depth, and not speak in a weak or 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 19 

soft tone. It is as well, in the first attempts in inflection, 
to give it, whether rising or falling, in a loud tone ; but 
care must be taken that the slide of the voice take place 
If the pupil is apt to imagine, from a deficiency of tune, 
that he rises when he speaks loud, then his inflections 
ought to be given with great softness. When there is a 
tardiness, as in such cases, in apprehending the inflection, 
the pupil may find it the more readily in expressions of 
surprise, where it is more marked and produced, than in 
any other situation, as is heard in the word indeed, when 
anything remarkable is mentioned. A violin may be made 
to inflect, by sliding the finger up and down the same 
string, while the bow is drawn across. This will explain 
to those who have not the benefit of a master, the true 
nature of an inflection, and the difference between an in- 
flection, and a sudden elevation or depression of the voice. 

TABLE OF INFLECTIONS. 

The acute accent (') denotes the rising r inflection ; and 
the grave accent ( v ) the falling inflection. 

One'— Two'— Three'— Four'— Five'— Six'— Seven'— Eight'— 

Nine' — Ten' — Eleven" — Twelve\ 
One\ 

One', two\ 
One', two', three\ 
One', two', three', four\ 
One', two', three', four', five\ 
One', two', three', four', five', six\ 
One', two', three', four', five', six', seven\ 
One', two', three', four', five', six', seven', eight\ 
One', two', three', four', five', six', seven', eight', nine\ 
One', two', three', four', five', six', seven', eight', nine', ten\ 
One', two', three', four', five', six', seven', eight', nine', ten', el* 

even\ 
One', two', three', four', five', six', seven', eight', nine', ten', el- 
even', twelve\ 

Did you give me one'? I gave you two\ 

Did you give me two'? I gave you three\ 

Did you give me three'? I gave you four\ 

Did you give me four'? I gave you five N . 

Did you give me five'? I gave you six\ 

Did you give me six'? I gave you seven\ 

Did you give me seven'? I gave you eight'. 



20 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



Did you give me 

Did you give me 

Did you give me 

Did you give me 

You must 

You must 

You must 

You must 

You must 

You must 

You must 

You must 

You must 

You must 

You must 



eight'? 
nine'? 



I gave you nine u . 

I gave you ten\ 
ten'? I gave you eleven\ 

eleven'? I gave you twelve\ 

not say one', but two\ 
not say two', but three', 
not say three', but four\ 
not say four', but five\ 
not say five', but six', 
not say six', but seven\ 
not say seven', but eight\ 
not say eight', but nine\ 
not say nine', but ten\ 
not say ten', but eleven\ 
not say eleven', but twelve\ 



The Rising, followed by the Falling Inflection* 
Does he talk rationally', or irrationally'? 
Does he pronounce correctly', or incorrectly v ? 
Does he mean honestly', or dishonestly'? 
Does she dance gracefully', or ungracefully'? 
Do they act cautiously', or incautiously'? 

The Falling, followed by the Rising, 
He talked rationally', not irrationally'. 
He pronounces correctly', not incorrectly'. 
He means honestly', not dishonestly'. 
She dances gracefully', not ungracefully'. 
They acted cautiously', not incautiously'. 

The following plate may denote the manner of the up- 
ward and downward slide or inflection : 

onr 





JMEuslcaZ r fj$fcaZe> 




Inflection is merely the outline of Eloquence. Feeling 
and passion fill up the picture ; and to these alone, must 
be attributed that variety, which adorns, and renders 



PRINCIPLES OF LOCUTION. 21 

speech impressive. Such is the power of the intellectual, 
ever the material part of our nature, that all our bodily or- 
gans are influenced by their powerful agency. In parti- 
cular, the voice is attuned, and the eyes are impregnated 
by the feeling or passion, which engrosses the soul. 

EXERCISES ON" THE INFLECTIONS. 

Blessed' are the poor in spirit\ Blessed' are the meek\— 
Blessed' are the peace-makers\ 

Let your light so shine before men', that they may see your 
good works', and glorify your Father" which is in heaven\ 

And now abideth faith', hope", charity v ; these three : but, 
the greatest of these' — is — charity\ 

When all thy mercies', my God', 

My rising soul surveys' — 
Transported with the view', I'm lost 

In wonder', love", and praise\ 

Correct articulation', is the most important exercise of the 
voice', and of the organs of speech\ 

The sorrow for the dead', is the only sorrow' from which we 
refuse to be divorced\ 

Age', that lessens the enjoyment of life', increases our desire 
of living\ 

Christianity' bears all the marks of a divine original\ It 
came down from heaven', and its purpose is to carry us up 
thither\ 

Year' steals upon us' after year\ Life' is never still for a 
moment', but continually', though insensibly', sliding into a new 
form\ Infancy' rises up fast to childhood^ — childhood' to 
youth x — youth passes quickly into manhood', and the gray hair' 
and the fading look', are not long in admonishing us", that old 
age is near at hand\ 

MODULATION. 

The modulation of the voice is the proper management 
of its tones, so as to produce grateful melody to the ear. 
Upon the modulation of the voice depends that variety, 
which is so pleasing and so necessary to refresh and re- 
lieve the ear in a long oration. The opposite fault is mo- 
notony, which becomes at last so disagreeable as to defeat 
altogether the success of a public speaker, — as far as to 



22 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

please is any part of his object, — by exciting the utmost 
impatience and disgust in his audience. To the variety, 
so grateful to the ear, net only changes of tone are requi- 
site, but, also, changes of delivery. 

According to the subject, the rapidity of the utterance 
varies, as the time of the different movements in music. 
Narration proceeds equably ; the pathetic, slowly ; in- 
struction, authoritatively ; determination, with vigour ; and 
passion, with rapidity ; all of which are analogous to the 
andante, the cantahile, the allegro, the presto, and other 
musical expressions. 

The modulation of the voice is one of the most impor- 
tant requisites in a public speaker. Even to the private 
reader, who wishes to execute his task with pleasure to 
others, it is a necessary accomplishment. A voice which 
keeps long in one key, however correct the pronunciation, 
delicate the inflection, and just the emphasis, will soon tire 
the hearer. 

The voice has been considered as capable of assuming 
three keys, the low, the high, and the middle. This va- 
riety is undoubtedly too limited ; but for the first lessons of 
a student, it may be useful to regard the classification. A 
well trained voice is capable of ranging in these with va- 
rious degrees of loudness, softness, stress, continuity, and 
rapidity. 

Modulation includes also the consideration of time, 
which is natural in the pronunciation of certain passages. 
The combinations, then, of pitch, force, and time, are ex- 
tremely numerous : thus, we have low, loud, slow ; low, 
soft, slow ; low, feeble, slow ; low, loud, quick, &c. ; mid- 
dle, loud, slow ; middle, soft, slow ; middle, feeble, slow, 
&c. Thus, we have a copious natural language adapted 
to the expression of every emotion and passion. 

The application of these qualities of the voice in the ex- 
pression of emotion, would lead us into a field of inquiry 
too wide for a volume such as this : the taste of the teach 
er will readily suggest to the pupil what is wanting here. 
A few passages, however, may be given here as fit exer- 
cises for particular combinations of these qualities. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 23 



EXAMPLES. 



ADORATION — ADMIRATION — SOLEMNITY — SUBLIMITY. — LOW, LOUD, 
SLOW, CONTINUOUS. 

Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. — 
Thy kingdom come. Thy will he done in earth, as it is in 
heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us 
our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. — 
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil; for 
thine is the kingdom, and the poAver, and the glory, for ever. 
Amen. 

In addresses to the Deity, little deviation should be made 
from the key note. The inflections should be little varied 
— even emphasis should not be strikingly marked. 

thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers ! 
whence are thy beams, O sun! thy everlasting light? Thou 
comest forth in thy awful beauty; the stars hide themselves in 
the sky; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave. 
But thou thyself movest alone : who can be a companion of thy 
course ? The oaks of the mountains fall ; the mountains them- 
selves decay with years: the ocean shrinks and grows again ; 
the moon herself is lost in the heavens; but thou art for ever 
the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course. When the 
world is dark with tempests, when thunders roll and light- 
nings fly, thoulookest in thy beauty from the clouds, andlaugh- 
est at the storm. But to Ossian "thou lookest in vain ; for he 
beholds thy beams no more; whether thy yellow hair flows on 
the eastern clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. 
But thou art, perhaps, like me, for a season : thy years will have 
an end. Thou wilt sleep in thy clouds, careless of the voice oi 
the morning. 

MOURNFULNESS — DESPONDENCY. — LOW, SOFT, MIDDLE TIME, 

TREMULOUS. 

Had it pleased heaven 

To try me with affliction; had it rained 

All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head ; 

Steeped me in poverty to the very lips ; 

Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes ; 

I should have found in some part of my soul 

A drop of patience; but, alas ! to make me 

A fixed figure, for the time of scorn 

To point his slow unmoving finger at — 

Oh— 

FEAR WITHOUT GUILT. — VERY LOW, SLOW, THE TONE SUSTAITfEBi 

How ill this taper burns ! Ha ! who comes here ? 
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes 



24 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

That snapes this monstrous apparition — 

It comes upon me : Art thou any thing ? 

Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 

That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stand ? 

GUILTY FEAR. — LOW, SLOW, HARSH, THE VOICE AT TIMES 
ASPIRATED. 

Oh, coward conscience, how dost thou affright me ! 
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight; 
Gold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. 

DEEP EMOTION. — LOW, QUICK, BROKEN. 

Farewell, farewell, farewell ! 
She does not feel, she does not feel ! Thank heaven, 
She does not feel her Fazio's last, last kiss ! 
One other ! Cold as stone — sweet, sweet as roses ! 

CONVERSATIONAL VOICE. — MIDDLE TONE, LIGHT, MIDDLE TIME. 

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you* 
trippingly on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as many of oui 
players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. — 
And do not saw the air too much with your hands, but use ah 
gently ; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, 
whirlwind of your passions, you must acquire and beget a tem- 
perance that may give it smoothness. 0, it offends me to the 
soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion 
to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings ; 
who. for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable 
dumb show and noise. 

DIGNITY. — MIDDLE TONE, LOUD, SLOW. 

While there is hope, do not distrust the gods, 
But wait at least till Caesar's near approach 
Force us to yield. 'Twill never be too late 
To sue for chains and own a conqueror. 

EARNESTNESS. — MIDDLE TONE, LOUD, TIME QUICKER. 

Whom are we to charge as the deceiver of the state ? Is it 
not the man whose words are inconsistent with his actions ? 
On whom do the maledictions fall, usually pronounced in our 
assemblies ? Is it not on this man ? Can we point out a more 
enormous instance of iniquity in any speaker, than this incon- 
sistency between his words and actions ? - 

REVENGE. — MIDDLE TONE, LOUD, ASPIRATED. 

O, that the slave had forty thousand lives ! 
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge ! 
Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! 
Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 

To tyrannous hate ! swell, bosom, with thy fraught, 
For 'tis of aspics' tongues. 

COURAGE — CHrVALROUS EXCITEMENT. — HIGH, LOUD, SLOW 

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; 

Or close the wall up with our English dead ! 

In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man, 

As modest stillness, and humility ; 

But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 

Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 

Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 

Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage. 

On, on, you noblest English, 

Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war-proof! 

Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, 

Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, 

And sheathed their swords for lack of argument. 

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 

Straining upon the start. The game's afoot ; 

Follow your spirit : and, upon this charge, 

Cry — Heaven for Harry ! England ! and St. George ! 

COURAGE — DESPERATE EXCITEMENT — HIGH, LOUD, SLOW, 
MORE ASPIRATED. 

Fight, gentlemen of England ! fight, bold yeomen ! 
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head : 
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood ; 
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves ! — 
A thousand hearts are great within my bosom : 
Advance our standards, set upon our foes ; 
Our ancient word of courage, fair St. George, 
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons ! 
Upon them ! Victory sits on our helms. 

FONDNESS, MIXED WITH SORROW. — HIGH, SOFT, SLOW. 

Oh, my long lost hope ! 

If thou to giddy valour gav'st the rein, 

To-morrow I may lose my son for ever. 

The love of thee before thou saw'st the light, 

Sustained my life when thy brave father fell. 

If thou shalt fall, I have nor love, nor hope, 

In this wide world. My son, remember me ! 

Wilt thou be gone ? It is not yet near day: 
It was the nightingale, and not the lark, 
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; 
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree: 
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 



26 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

SHIFT OF THE VOICE. 

In the examples given above, the prevailing tone of 
the voice was pointed out; but in passionate composition, 
and even in that of reasoning and narrative, there is fre- 
quently in the same sentence, and, generally, at the begin- 
ning of a new sentence and paragraph, a marked variety 
of tone. The right assumption of these keys constitutes 
what may be termed the. feeling of a composition ; with- 
out it, acting is lifeless, and argument tiresome. It is a 
want of this variety which distinguishes the inanimate 
speaker ; his inflection may be correct, and have even what 
has been termed a musical cadence ; but without this va- 
riety of key, he must tire his audience. The effect of a 
transition from the major to the minor key in music is not 
more striking than the variety which the voice will occa- 
sionally assume. 

A change of key is generally necessary at the com- 
mencement of a new sentence. When in the preceding 
sentence the voice has sunk down towards the close, in the 
new sentence it sometimes recovers its elasticity, and some- 
times it continues in the depressed note on which the pre- 
ceding sentence terminates. This is generally the case 
when the second sentence is illustrative or expository of 
the first : 

No blessing of life is comparable to the enjoyment of a dis- 
creet and virtuous friend. It eases and unloads the mind, clears 
and improves the understanding, engenders thoughts and know- 
ledge, animates virtue and good resolutions, soothes and allays 
the passions, and finds employment for most of the vacant hours 
of life. 

Here the second sentence beginning, It eases, assumes 
the low note, which terminates the preceding sentence. 
In the remaining clauses the voice is varied, in order to 
rivet the attention on each particular. 

Speciality, in the same sentence, has a similar effect : 
The flying Mede — his shaftless broken bow. 
The fiery Greek — his red pursuing spear. 

Opposition, variety, modification of the sense, interrup- 
tion of the thought, whether in one sentence or in separ- 
ate sentences, produce a change of key : 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 2T 

Oh, blindness to the future ! kindly given, 

That each may fill the circle marked by Heaven, 

Who sees, with equal eye, as God of all, 

A hero perish, or a sparrow fall ; 

Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd ; 

And now a bubble burst, and now a world. 

Mountains above, earth's, ocean's plain below, 
Death in the front, destruction in the rear. 

Age in a virtuous person, carries in it an authority which 
makes it preferable to all the pleasures of youth. 

To die — to sleep — to sleep ! perchance to dream ; 
Ay, there's the rub. 

If thou be'st he — 
But oh! how fallen. 

' In passionate composition, the changes of key are more 
frequent than in argument, as the mind is more restless ; 
in the latter case, it is principally at the b e ginning of sen- 
tences or paragraphs that a change is necessary. In or- 
der to keep the minds of an audience awake to an argu- 
ment, it is necessary that the speaker should at times use 
the artifice of sincerity, wonder, &c; indeed, they are not 
artifices, but the feeling which must occupy the breast of 
every one who speaks with intensity. Even the read- 
ing of a narrative partakes of the mood of the speaker's 
mind, and will be relieved at times by those modifications 
of voice, which are in accordance with his natural temper. 
If, then, a mere narrative assumes these modulations, a 
public address, such as is given from the pulpit, should be 
greatly varied in its tones; for then, pity, hope, and other 
passions, must animate the mind of the speaker ; nay, even 
in the closest reasoning, there must be an earnestness, in 
which must be exhibited, by varying tones, the natural 
impatience of a mind which, convinced itself, wonders at 
the tardiness of conviction on others, the relapse into the 
calmness of appeal natural after such impatience, and the 
assumption of confidence in the statement of arguments' 
that appear manifest to all. It is on several of the most 
remarkable of these moods of the mind that the figures of 
rhetoric are founded ; their pronunciation, then, must be 



28 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

intimately connected with the modulation of the voice, 
and with the shift which forms so prominent a part of mod- 
ulation. 

IMITATIVE MODULATION. 

Immensity, sublimity, are naturally expressed by a pro- 
longation and swell of the voice : 

Roll on thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll, 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. 

The adoption of a tone little varied in the inflection is 
necessary in such passages, the wave of the voice not ex- 
ceeding a half note : 

Thou glorious mirror ! where the Almighty's form 

Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, 

Calm or convulsed, in breeze or gale or storm, 

Icing the pole ; or, in the torrid clime, 

Dark, heaving ; boundless, endless, and sublime. 

The reader's admiration of a passage is conveyed to 
another by a subdued imitation, and a long interval be- 
twixt the words. I notice this, although it does not come 
within the legitimate sphere of ornamental reading, as it 
is a practice of daily occurrence, and as it is frequently 
employed by the intelligent reader to convey to others the 
full beauty, force and sublimity of a passage. In such 
reading, there is a tone of wonder and admiration ; and 
the frequent pauses are made, that the hearer may have 
leisure to see the composition in all its meaning. 

Motion and sound in all their modifications, are, in des- 
criptive reading, more or less imitated. To glide, to drive, 
to swell, to flow, to skip, to whirl, to turn, to rattle, &c, 
all partake of a peculiar modification of voice. This ex- 
pression lies in the key, force, and time of the tones, and 
the forcible pronunciation o,f certain letters which are 
supposed more particularly to express the imitation. 

True ease in writing comes from art, not chance ; 
As those move easiest, who have learned to dance. 
'Tis not enough, no harshness gives offence — 
The sound must seem an echo to the sense. 
Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, 
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows ; 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 29 

But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, 

The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar. 

When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, 

The line too labours, and the words move slow; 

Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, 

Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main. 

See from the brake the whirring pheasant springs, 
And mounts exulting on triumphant wings. 

The rhythmus of speech is significant of various kinds of 
motion. 

LABORIOUS MOTION. 

Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone. 

The pauses which must necessarily occur betwixt high, 
lull, huge, round, and stone, are eminently descriptive of 
slow motion. The necessity of these pauses is shewn in 
what follows on the measure of speech. 

REGULAR MOVEMENT. 

First march the heavy mules securely slow , 

O'er hills, o'er dales, o'er crags, o'er rocks they go. 

The regularity of the cadence here, is peculiarly ap- 
propriate. 

'"' PAUSES. 

Besides the pauses of passion, and those which are de- 
noted by grammatical punctuation, there are short pauses 
at the termination of those clusters of words which have 
been termed oratorical, and others which are regulated 
by the rhythmus of speech. The latter are explained 
elsewhere ; the former, which have obtained the name of 
Rhetorical Pauses, may be quickly understood by the fol- 
lowing rule and examples. 

Pause before the nominative, if it consists of several 
words, or if it is one important word ; before and after an 
immediate clause ; before the relative ; before and after 
clauses introduced by prepositions ; before conjunctions ; 
and before the infinitive mood, if any words intervene be- 
twixt it and the word which governs it. 



30 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

The experience of want | enhances the value of plenty. 

Truth | is the basis | of excellence. 

Trials | in this state of being | are the lot of man. 

Death I is the season | which brings our affections to the test. 

From the right exercise | of our intellectual powers | arises J 
one | of the chief sources | of our happiness. 

We applaud virtue | even in enemies. 

Honour | and shame | from no condition rise. 

A public speaker | may have a voice that is musical | and of 
great compass ; but it requires much time and labour j to at- 
tain its just modulation | and that variety of flexion and tone j 
which a pathetic discourse requires. 

These pauses are generally shorter in their duration 
than those at the grammatical points. Grammatical punc- 
tuation does not always demand a pause, and the time of 
the pauses at various points is not correctly stated in 
many books on reading. In some treatises, the pause at 
the period is described as being uniformly four times as 
long as that at a comma ; whereas, it is regulated entire- 
ly by the nature of the subject, the intimacy or remoteness 
of the connection between the sentences, and other causes. 

I III. EMPHASIS. 

By emphasis is meant that stronger and fuller sound of 
voice, by which, in reading or speaking, we distinguish 
the accented syllable of some word, on which we design 
to lay particular stress, in order to show how it affects the 
rest of the sentence. On the right management of the 
emphasis depend the whole life and spirit of every dis- 
course. If no emphasis be placed on any word, not only 
is discourse rendered heavy and lifeless, but the meaning 
left often ambiguous. If the emphasis be placed wrong, 
we pervert and confound the meaning wholly. 

To give a common instance ; such a simple question as 
this, " Do you ride to town to-day V 9 is capable of no few- 
er than four acceptations, according as the emphasis is dif- 
ferently placed on the words. If it be pronounced thus : 
Do you ride to town to-day ? the answer may naturally 
be, No ; I send my servant in my stead. If thus : Do you 
ride to town to-day? Answer, No; I intend to walk. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 31 

Do you ride to town to-day 1 No ; I ride out into the 
fields. Do you ride to town to-day ? No ; but I shall to- 
morrow. 

In order to acquire the proper management of the em- 
phasis, the great rule, and indeed the only rule possible 
to be given, is, that the speaker or reader study to attain 
a just conception of the force and spirit of those sentiments 
which he is to pronounce. For to lay the emphasis with 
exact propriety, is a constant exercise of good sense and 
attention. It is far from being an inconsiderable attain- 
ment. It is one of the greatest trials of a true and just 
taste ; and must rise from feeling delicately ourselves, and 
from judging accurately of what is fittest to strike the feel- 
ings of others. 

Next to emphasis, the pauses in speaking demand at- 
tention. These are of two kinds ; first, emphatical pau- 
ses : and next, such as mark the distinctions of sense. 
An emphatical pause is made after something has been 
said of peculiar moment, on which we want to fix the 
hearer's attention. Such pauses have the same effect as 
a strong emphasis, and are subject to the same rules ; es- 
pecially to the caution of not repeating them too frequent- 

But the most frequent and principal use of pauses is to 
mark the divisions of the sense, and at the same time to 
allow the speaker to draw his breath ; and the proper ad- 
justment of such pauses is one of the most difficult arti- 
cles in delivery. In all reading and public speaking the 
management of the breath requires great care, so as not 
to be obliged to divide words from one another which have 
so intimate a connection, that they ought to be pronounced 
in the same breath, and without the least separation. 
Many sentences are miserably mangled, and the force of 
the emphasis totally lost, by divisions being made in the 
wrong place. To avoid this, every one, while he is read- 
ing or speaking, should be careful to provide a full supply 
of breath for what he is to utter. It is a great mistake 
to imagine, that the breath must be drawn only at the end 
of a period, when the voice is allowed to fall. It may 



32 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

easily be gathered at the intervals of the period, when the 
voice is only suspended for a moment ; and, by this man- 
agement, we may have always a sufficient stock for car- 
rying on the longest sentence without improper interrup- 
tions. 

IV. GESTURE. 

Gesture regulates the looks, movements, and attitudes, 
which are supposed natural in certain passions and emo- 
tions. In strong excitement, there is a similarity of ges 
ture among all nations ; but the extent and variety of its 
employment in common conversation, and in formal ad- 
dresses to the public, are greatly regulated by the temper, 
taste, and intellectual improvement, of each individual na- 
tion. The gesture of the actor is more violent and pro- 
fuse than that of the orator, who is supposed to be more 
under the influence of reason, and to address himself to 
the understanding of his audience. In civilised and pol- 
ished countries, a profusion of gesture is to be avoided in 
public discourses ; it should neither be minute nor violent. 
The first is inconsistent with that absorption of thought 
which is supposed necessary in an intellectual address ; 
the second is an outrage on the taste and feelings of the 
audience, and is apt to raise indignation and aversion. 

Many modern speakers offend by the vehemence of their 
gesticulation ; indeed, the instruction which is given on 
gesture should often be occupied in reducing within the 
limits of grace, extravagant positions and movements. 
The ancients were more chaste in their gesture than is 
commonly imagined. Although, in seasons of great ex- 
citement, they adopted, at times, a bold and striking ges- 
ture, they were generally more restrained in their move- 
ments than many modern speakers. 

Gesture regulates the position and movement of the 
body, the eye, the limbs, and, indeed, the whole deport- 
ment. In oratory, the regulation of the hand is of pecu- 
liar importance, not only as it serves to express passion, 
but to mark the dependence of clauses, and to express 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 33 

the emphasis. In the suspension of a sentence, for in- 
stance, the hand may take an upward slide ; while at the 
completion, the hand may sink in a line with the breast. 
In the stroke of emphasis, the hand rests in the same posi- 
tion, but comes down with a combined jerk of the elbow 
and wrist. The arm in its movements must not be much 
curved, but come freely from the shoulder. 

A volume might be written on the subject of gesture ; 
but as the great proportion of students in Elocution do not 
require this accomplishment, and as it can be learned more 
quickly and efficaciously by a few instructions from the 
living model, it has been deemed unnecessary to swell this 
volume by a detail of its numerous laws. We will only 
enumerate a few of the most obvious modes of gesture. 

The Head and Face. The hanging down of the head 
denotes shame, or grief. The holding it up, pride, or 
courage. To nod forward, implies assent. To toss the 
head back, dissent. The inclination of the head implies 
bashfulness, or languor. The head is averted in dislike 
or horror. It leans forward in attention. 

The Eyes. The eyes are raised in prayer. They weep 
in sorrow. Burn in anger. They are cast on vacancy 
in thought. They are thrown in different directions in 
doubt and anxiety. 

The Arms. The arm is projected forward in authority. 
Both arms are spread extended in admiration. They are 
held forward in imploring help. They both fall suddenly 
in disappointment. 

The Hands. The hand on the head indicates pain, or 
distress. On the eyes, shame. On the lips, injunction of 
silence. On the breast, it appeals to conscience, or inti- 
mates desire. The hand waves, or flourishes, in joy, or, 
contempt. Both hands are held supine, or clasped, in 
prayer. Both descend prone in blessing. They are 
clasped, or wrung, in affliction. They are held forward, 
and received, in friendship. 

The Body. The body, held erect, indicates steadiness 
and courage. Thrown back, pride. Stooping forward, 



34 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

condescension or compassion. Bending, reverence, or re- 
spect. Prostration, the utmost humility, or abasement. 

The Lower Limbs. Their firm position, signifies cour- 
age, or obstinacy. Bended knees, timidity, or weakness. 
Frequent change, disturbed thoughts. They advance in 
desire, or courage. Retire in aversion, or fear. Start, in 
terror. Stamp, in authority, or anger. Kneel, in submis- 
sion and prayer. *' 



GENERAL RULES. 

INTERROGATION. 

Rule 1. — When a question commences with an interro- 
gative adverb or pronoun, it terminates with a falling in- 
flection. 

EXAMPLES. 

How can he exalt his thoughts to anything great' and noble', 
who only believes that after a short turn on the stage of this 
world', he is to sink into oblivion", and to lose his conscious- 
ness forever v ? 

If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave', 

By nature's law design'd', 
"Why was an independent wish' 

E'er planted in my mind v ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty^, or scorn v ? 
Or, why hath man the will', and power" ! 
To make his fellows mourn v ? 

Who can look down upon the grave', even of an enemy', and 
not feel a compunctious throb', that he should ever have 
warded with the poor handful of earth", that lies mouldering 
before him N ? 

Who can hold a fire in his hand', 

By thinking on the frosty Caucasus v ? 

Or, wallow naked in December's snow', 

By mere remembrance of the summer's heat v ? 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 35 

Rule 2. — When a question commences with a verb, it 
*erminates with the rising inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

Shall dust and ashes stand in the presence of that uncreated 
glory', before which principalities and powers bow down, trem- 
ble, and adore'? Shall guilty and condemned creatures appear 
in the presence of Him, in whose sight the heavens are not 
clean, and who chargeth his angels with folly' ? 

What is the happiness that this world can give ? Can it de- 
fend us from disasters' ? Can it preserve our hearts from grief, 
our eyes from tears, or our feet from falling' ? Can it prolong 
our comforts' ? Can it multiply our days' ? Can it redeem 
ourselves or our friends from death' ? Can it soothe the king of 
terrors, or mitigate the agonies of the dying' ? 

Is the chair empty' ? Is the sword unsway'd' ? 
Is the king dead' ? the empire unpossess'd' ? 
What heir of York is there alive but we x ? 
And who is England's king but great York's heir v ? 

Can Rolla's words add vigour to the virtuous energies', 
which inspire your hearts" ? 

Can such things be', 

And overcome us like a summer cloud', 

Without our special wonder" ? 

EXCEPTIONS. 

Emphasis breaks through this rule. 

Was ever woman in this humour wooed' ? 
Was ever woman in this humour won N ? 

"When a series of questions is long and terminates a 
paragraph, the last member may take the falling inflec- 
tion, as : 

Was the hope drunk 

Wherein you dress'd yourself? Hath it slept since'? 

And wakes it now, to look so green and pale, 

At what if did so freely' ? From this time. 

Such I account thy love. Art thou afear'd 

To be the same in thire own act' and valour', 

As thou art in desire"? Would'st thou have that' 

Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life', 

And live a coward in thine own esteem", 

Letting J dare not' wait upon i" would', 

Like the poor cat i' the adage v ? 



36 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Rule III. — Questions introduced by verbs, containing 
two or more particulars connected by the conjunction or, 
terminate sometimes with the rising, and sometimes with 
the falling inflection. If the question affects the objects 
disjunctively, the falling inflection is used ; if conjunc- 
tively, the rising. 

EXAMPLES. 

Thus, if I say, Is he in London, or Paris ? meaning, that I 
know he is in one of the towns, but that I do not know 
which one of the two, the rising inflection is on London, and 
the falling on Paris ; but if I ask the question, not knowing that 
he is in either of the towns, the rising inflection takes place on 
both. The same inflection would take place, though there were 
more than two connected by the conjunction or, — thus. Is he in 
London', or Paris', or Madrid', or Rome' ? meaning, in which 
one is he; or, Is he in London', or Paris', or Madrid', or Rome'? 
meaning, is he in any of the towns. 

Do the perfections of the Almighty lie dormant', or, are they 
not rather in continual exercise' ? 

Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust'? 
Or, flatten'' soothe the dull, cold ear of death ? 

Is there a heart, that could drive back the wife, that seeks 
her bleeding husband' ? or, the innocent babe', that cries for 
his imprisoned father' ? 

Disjunctive. — But shall we wear these glories for a day', 
Or, shall they last', and we rejoice in them'? 

Conjunctive. — Thou fool, will thy discovery of the cause 
Suspend the effect', or heal' it. 

EXCLAMATION. 

Rule IV. — The inflection which terminates an ex- 
clamation is regulated by the common rules of inflec- 
tion. This rule is of course broken through by passion, 
which has slides and notes of its own. As a general 
rule, it may be stated that exclamations of surprise and 
indignation take a rising slide in a loud tone ; those of 
sorrow, distress, pity, and love, the rising slide in a gentle 
tone ; and those of adoration, awe, and despair, the fall- 
ing inflection. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 37 

EXAMPLES. 

Oh ! we shall be so happy'. 

What' ! am I braved in my own house' ? 

Oh, that those lips had language' ! 

Newton was a Christian. Newton'! whose mind burst forth 
from the fetters cast by nature on our finite conceptions. 
0, world' ! 0, life' ! 0, day' ! 0, misery" ! 

COMPACT SENTENCE. 

A compact sentence is one, that consists of two princi- 
pal constructive parts, but which cannot be understood 
until both are pronounced. 

Rule V. — The first 'principal division of a compact sen- 
tence requires the rising inflection ; in the second, the 
voice gradually declines into the falling inflection, as the 
sense forms.* 

examples. 

Such is the construction of man', that labour may be styled its 
own reward\ 

As we discover the shadow moving along the dial-plate', so 
the advances we make in knowledge are only perceived by the 
distance gone over\ 

If to do were as easy as to know what were good' to do — 
chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' 
palaces\ 

While dangers are at a distance, and do not immediately' ap- 
proach us — let us not conclude that we are secure, unless we 
use the necessary precautions against v them. 

As the beauty of the body always accompanies the health' of 
it — so is decency of behaviour a concomitant to virtue\ 

Sympathising with the hatred and abhorrence which other' 
men must entertain for him — the murderer becomes in some 
measure the object of his own hatred and abhorrence\ 

Formed to excel in peace as well as in war' — Ceesar was en- 
dowed with every great and noble quality, that could give a man 
the ascendant insociety\ 



* Mr. Walker's rule of the loose sentence is altogether superfluous. The in- 
flection is governed by the completeness of the sense; and that is all we have 
to take into consideration.— J. S. Knowles. 



38 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

To all the charms of beauty and the utmost elegance of ex- 
ternal form', Mary added those accomplishments which render 
their impression irresistible\ 

Your enemies may be formidable by their numbers and by 
their power', but He, who is with you, is mightier than they\ 

No man can rise above the infirmities of nature', unless as- 
sisted by God\ 

NEGATIVE SENTENCE. 
Rule VI. Negative sentences, and negative members 
of sentences, when they do not conclude a paragraph, re- 
quire the rising inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

You are not left alone' to climb the arduous ascent — God is 
with you ; who never suffers the spirit which rests on him to 
fail, nor the man who seeks his favour to seek it in vain. v 

I tax not you, ye elements, with unkindness'; 
I never gave you kingdoms' ; call'd you children'' ; 
You owe me no subscription^ ; why, then, let fall 
Your horrible pleasure^: here I stand — your slave — 
A poor', infirm', weak", and despised old man\ 

Virtue is of intrinsic value' and good desert N ; not the crea- 
ture of will', but necessary and immutable^ ; not local', or, tem- 
porary', but of equal extent' and antiquity with the divine mind' ; 
not a mode of sensation', but everlasting truths ; not dependent 
on power', but the guide of all power. 

I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye', — 
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow v : 
I'll say, 'tis not the lark, whose notes do beat 
The vaulty heaven, so high above our heads": 
Come, Death ! and welcome ! Juliet wills it so\ 

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of 
death', I will fear no evil", for, thou art with me\ 

Let us walk honestly', as in the day v ; not in rioting', and 
drunkenness', not in chambering' and wantonness', not in strife', 
and envying" ; but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make 
not provision for the flesh', to fulfil the lusts thereof\ 

Seems, madame' ! nay, it is N ; I know not seems\ 
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother', 
Nor customary suits of solemn black', 
Nor windy suspiration of fore 'd breath', 
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye', 
Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage', 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 39 

Together with all forms', modes', shows of grief", 
That can denote me truly': these, indeed, seem', 
For they are actions, that a man might play' ; 
But I have that within which passeth show' : 
These, but the trappings', and the suits of wo\ 

Rule VII. WJien a series of negative sentences con* 
tludes a 'paragraph, the last member of the series takes the 
falling inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

In death', the poor man' lays down', at last', the burden of 
his wearisome life\ No more shall he hear the insolent calls 
of the master', from whom he received his scanty wages". No 
more shall he be raised from needful slumber on his bed of 
straw/, nor be hurried away from his homelv meal", to undergo 
the repeated labours of the day\ 

Duncan is in his grave' ; 

After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well"; 

Treason has done his worst' : nor poison, 

Malice domestic', foreign levy', nothing" 

Can touch him further" ! 

CONCESSION. 

Rule VIII. A concession should take the rising in* 
flection. 

examples. 

Painting', poetry', eloquence', and every other art, on which 
the genius of mankind has exercised itself, may be abused', and 
prove dangerous in the hands of bad men" ; but it were ridicu- 
lous to contend', that, on this account', they ought to be abol- 
ished". 

One' may be a speaker', both of much reputation', and much 
influence', in the calm', argumentative manner" ; to attain the 
pathetic' and the sublime of oratory', requires those strong sen- 
sibilities of mind', and that high power of expression', which 
are given to few\ 

This', however', I say concerning the Greeks" — 1 grant them 
learning', and the knowledge of many sciences" ; I do not de- 
ny that they have wit', tine genius', and eloquence"; nay, if 
they lay claim to many other excellences', I shall not contest 
their title" ; but this I must say ; that nation' never paid a 
proper regard to the religious sanctity of public evidence', and 
are total strangers to the obligation', authority", and import- 
ance of truth\ 

B2 



40 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



PARENTHESIS. 



Rule IX. A 'parenthesis must be read more quickly, 
and in a lower tone of voice, than those parts of the sen- 
tence, which precede and follow it. 

EXAMFLES. 

Know ye not, brethren' — for, I speak to them that Know the 
law'— that the law' hath dominion over a man' as long as he 
liveth" ? 

If envious people were to ask themselves', whether they 
would exchange their situations with the persons envied', (I 
mean their minds', passions', notions', as well as their persons', 
fortunes', and dignities',) I believe the self love common to 
human nature', would, generally, make them prefer their own 
condition\ 

If there's a God above us' — 

And that there is', all nature cries aloud', 

Through all her works" — He must delight in virtue* ; 

And that which He' delights' in, must be happy \ 

But to my mind — though I am native here 

And to the manner born, — it is a custom 

More honour'd in the breach than in the observance. 

For God is my witness' — whom I serve with my spirit in the 
gospel of his Son' — that without ceasing" I make mention of 
you in my prayers, making request' — if by any means now at 
length I might have a prosperous journey, by "the will' of God 
— to come unto you. 

A ball now hisses through the airy tides, 
(Some i'ury wings it, and some demon guides) 
Parts the fine locks her graceful head that deck, 
"Wounds her fair ear, and sinks into her neck. 

Then went the captain', with the officers', and brought them 
without violence (fyr they feared the people, Jest they should 
be stoned" ;) and when they had brought them', they set them 
before the council'. 

Let us (since life can little more supply 
Than just to look about us and to die), 
Expatiate free o'er all this scene of man ; 
A mighty maze ! but not without a plan. 

Should you fall in the struggle, should the nation fall, yon 
will have the satisfaction (the purest allotted to man) of having 
performed your part. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 4! 

Tell them, though 'tis an awful thing to die' — 
('Twas even to thee v ) — yet, the dread path once trod, 
Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high, 
And bids " the pure in heart behold their God." 

SERIES. 

A series is a number of particulars, immediately fol- 
lowing one another, whether independent, (1), or having 
one common reference, (2). 

EXAMPLES. 

(1) The wind and rain are over N ; Calm is the noon N of day : 
The clouds are divided' in heaven ; Over the green hill flies the 
inconstant sun': Red through the stony vale comes down the 
stream of the hill\ 

(2) The characteristics of chivalry were — valour', humanity', 
courtesy', justice', and honour'. 

When the members of a series consist of several words, 
as in the former for example, the series is called compound ; 
when of single words,* as in the latter, it is called simple. 

When a series begins a sentence, but does not end it, it 
is called a commencing series ; when it ends it, whether 
it begins it or not, it is called a concluding series. 

COMMENCING SERIES. 

Rule X. Each particular of a commencing series takes 
the rising inflection — with this special observance, that the 
last particular must have a greater degree of inflection, 
thereby intimating, that the enumeration is finished. 

EXAMPLES. 

Beauty', strength', youth', and old age", lie undistinguished, 
in the same promiscuous heap of matter\ 

Hatred', malice, and anger", are passions, unbecoming a dis- 
ciple of Christ'. 

Regulation', proportion', order', and colour", contribute to 
grandeur as well as to beauty\ 

* The addition of an article, a preposition, or a conjunction, does not 
render a series compound; nor the introduction of a compound member, 
when the majority of the members are simple. 

b3 



42 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Whither shall I go from thy Spirit' ? or, whither snail I flee 
from thy presence' ? If I ascend up into Heaven', thou art 
there'; if I make my hed in hell', behold, Thou art there," if 
I take the wings of the morning', and dwell in the uttermost 
parts of the sea", even there shall thy hand lead me', and thy 
right hand shall hold me'. If I say', Surely the darkness' shall 
cover me', even the night" shall be light about me\ Yea, the 
darkness' hideth not from Thee;" but the night shineth as the 
day' : the darkness' and the light' are both alike to Thee.' 

The verdanf lawn', the shady grove', the variegated land- 
scape', the boundless ocean', and the starry firmament", are con- 
templated with pleasure by every beholder'. 

I conjure you', by that which you profess', 

(Howe'er you come to know it') answer me' : 

Though you untie the winds', and let them fight 

Against the churches" ; though the yesty waves' 

Confound, and swallow navigation up"; 

Though bladed corn be lodged', and trees blown down" ; 

Though castles topple on their warders' heads', 

Though palaces and pyramids' do slope 

Their heads to their foundations" ; though the treasure 

Of nature's germins' tumble all together, 

Ev'n till destruction sicken" — answer me 

To what I ask you'. 

CONCLUDING SERIES. 

Rule XI. Each particular of a concluding series, ex- 
cept the last, takes th e rising inflection. The particular pre- 
ceding the last requires a greater degree of the rising in- 
flection than the others, thereby intimating, that the next 
particular will close the enumeration. The last is pro- 
nounced with the falling inflection. 

EXAMPLE?. 

They, through faith, subdued kingdoms', wrought righteous- 
ness', obtained promises', stopped the mouths of lions', quench- 
ed the violence of fire', escaped the edge of the sword', out of 
weakness were made strong', waxed valiant in fight", and turn- 
ed to flight the armies of the aliens'. 

Where'er he turns', he meets a stranger's eye : 

His suppliants scorn him', and his followers fly x ; 

Now, drops at once the pride of awful state', 

The golden canopy', the glittering plate', 

The regal palace', the luxurious board', 

The liv'ried armv". and the menial lord. 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 4-3 

True gentleness' teaches us to bear one another's burdens', 
to rejoice with those' who rejoice', to weep with those' who 
weep v ; to please every one his neighbour' for his good' ; to be 
kind', and tender-hearted'; to be pitiful' and courteous' ; to sup- 
port the weak" ; and to be patient towards all men\ 

What though no weeping loves' thy ashes grace\ 
Nor polished marble' emulate thy face" ? 
What though no sacred earth allow thee room\ 
Nor hallow'd dirge' be mutter'd o'er thy tomb v ? 
Yet shall thy grave with rising flowers be drest', 
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breasf ! 
There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow", 
And the first roses of the year' shall blow". 

EMPHASIS. 

Rule XII. Emphasis, in the most usual sense of the 
word, is that stress with which certain words are pronoun* 
ced, so as to be distinguished from the rest of the sentence. 
Among the number of words we make use of in discourse, 
there will always be some, which are more necessary to be 
understood than others : those things, with which we sup- 
pose our hearers to be pre-acquainted, we express by such 
a subordination of stress as is suitable to the small impor- 
tance of things already understood ; while those, of which 
our hearers are either not fully informed, or which they 
might possibly misconceive, are enforced with such an in- 
crease of stress as makes it impossible for the hearer to 
overlook or mistake them. Thus, as it were in a picture, 
the more essential parts of a sentence are raised, as it were, 
from the level of speaking ; and the less necessary are, by 
this means, sunk into a comparative obscurity. 

EXAMPLES. 

A man's first care should, be to avoid the reproaches of his 
own heart'; his next, to escape the censures of the world\ 

It will be difficult for her to retain the decorous and dignified 
semblance of love for him', who has cared but little for the real' 
ily of it\ 

Those governments which curb not evils', cause v ! 
And a rich knave's' a libel on our Ia\vs\ 
Religion' raises men above themselves": Irreligiori sinks 
them beneath the brutes\ 
b4 



44 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

We must forget all feelings' save the one — 
We must resign all passions' save our purpose — 
We must behold no object' save our country*". 

NOTE. 

Emphasis, according to Knowles, is of two kinds, abso- 
lute and relative. Relative emphasis has always an antithe- 
sis, either expressed or implied : absolute emphasis takes 
place, when the peculiar eminence of the thought is solely 
—singly considered. 

'Twas base and poor, unworthy of a peasant^, 
To forge a scroll so villainous and loose, 
And mark it with a noble lady's name. 

Here we have an example of relative emphasis ; for, if 
the thought were expressed at full, it would stand thus : — 

Unworthy not only of a gentleman, but even of a peasant. 

'Twas base and poor, unworthy of a man, 
To forge a scroll so villainous and loose, 
And mark it with a noble lady's name. 

Here we have an example of absolute emphasis ; for, i? 
the thought were expressed at full, it would stand thus : — 

Unworthy a being composed of such perfections as constitute 
a man. 

"When we wish to give a phrase with the utmost possi 
ble force, not only every word which enters into the com 
position of it, becomes emphatic, but even the parts of com 
pound words are pronounced as if they were independ 
ent. 

EXAMPLES. 

There was a time, then, my fellow citizens, when the Lace 
demonians were sovereign masters both by sea and land 
when their troops and forts surrounded the entire circuit of At 
tica ; when they possessed Eubcea, Tanagra, the whole Bceotia» 
district, Megara, iEgina, Cleone, and the other islands; whilt 
this State had not one ship — no, not — one — wall. 

That's truly great ! what think you 'twas set up 
The Greek and Roman name in such a lustre, 
But doing right in stern despite of nature; 
Shutting their ears 'gainst all her little cries, 
When great, august, and godlike justice call'd ! 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 45 

At Aulis — one pour'd out a daughter's life, 

And gain'd more glory ihan by all his wars ! 

Another slew a sister in just rage ! 

A third, the theme of all succeeding time, 

Gave to the cruel axe a darling son ! 

Nay, some for virtue have entomb'd themselves, 

As he of Carthage — an immortal name ! 

But there is one — step — left — above them all ! 

Above their history, above their fable ! 

A wife ! — bride ! — mistress unenjoy'd ! — Do that ! 

And tread upon the Greek and Roman glory ! 

CLIMAX. 

Rule X1TI. A climax must be read, or 'pronounced 
with the voice progressively ascending to the last mem- 
ber ; accompanied with increasing energy, animation or 
pathos, corresponding with the nature of the subject. ' 

EXAMPLES. 

It is pleasant to be virtuous and good, because that is to ex- 
cel many others'; it is pleasant to grow better, because that is to 
excel ourselves'; it is pleasant to mortify and subdue our lusts, 
because that is victory'; it is pleasant to command our appe- 
tites' and passions', and to keep them in due order', within the 
bounds of reason and religion", because that is empire\ 

See, what a grace was seated on this brow ! 
Hyperion's curls'; the front of Jove himself: 
An eye like Mars', to threaten and command'; 
A station like the herald Mercury", 
New lighted on a heaven-kissing hhT* 
A combination' and a form' indeed, 
Where every god' did seem to set his seal'V. 
To give the world assurance of a man\ 

If I were an American as I am an Englishman, while a for- 
eign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down 
my arms — never\ never', never\ 

Come, shew me what thou'lt do N : 

Woul't weep'? Woul't fight'? Woul't fast'? Woul't tear 

thyself" ? 
I'll do"t. Dost thou come here to whine'? 
To outface me with leaping in her grave'? 
Be buried quick with her', and so willP! 
And if thou prate of mountains', let them throw 
Millions of acres on us', till our ground, 
b5 



4G NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Singeing his pate against the burning zone", 
Make Ossa like a wart v ! Nay, an thou'lt mouth', 
I'll rant as well as thou v ! 

His display of this day has reflected the highest honour on 
himself, lustre upon letters', renown upon parliament", glory 
upon the country\ 

We are called upon as members of this house\ as men', as 
Christians v , to protest against this horrible barbarity. 

ANTI-CLIMAX. 

Rule XIV. An anti-climax should be read with decreas- 
ing energy, as you proceed ; until the last member, being 
strongly emphatic, takes a fall instead of a rise. 

EXAMPLE. 

What must the king do now'? must he submit'? 
The king shall do it N : must he be depos'd'? 
The king shall be contented^: must he lose 
The name of king'? — let it go N ! 
I'll give my jewels for a set ofbeads N ; 
My gorgeous palace' for a hermitage N ; 
My gay apparel', for an almsman's gown N ; 
My figur'd goblets', for a dish of wood N ; 
My sceptre', for a painter's walking staff v ; 
My subjects', for a pair of carved saints v : 
And my large kingdom', for a little grave v : — 
A little', little grave v — an obscure grave\ 

ECHO, OR REPETITION. 

Rule XV. The repetition of a word .or thought intro- 
ductory to some particulars, requires the high rising in~ 
flection, and a long pause after it. This is frequently the 
language of excitement; the mind recurs to the exciting 
idea, and acquires fresh intensity from the repetition of it. 

EXAMPLES. 

Can parliament be so dead to its dignity and duty, as to give 
its sanction to measures thus obtruded and forced upon them * 
measures', my lords, which have reduced this late flourishing 
kingdom to scorn and contempt. 

Shall I, who was born, I might almost say, but certainly 
brought up, in the tent of my father, that most excellent gen- 
eral— shall 1', the conqueror of Spain and Gaul, and not only 



PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 47 

of the Alpine nations, but of the Alps themselves; shall T* 
compare myself with this half-year captain ? A captain'! before 
whom should one place the two armies without their ensigns, 
1 am persuaded he would not know to which of them he is 
consul. 

Tell them I grieve not for my death — 
Grieve ! — Ours hath been a race of steel ; 

Stedfast and stern — yea, fixed in faith, 
Though doom'd Power's scourge to feel. 
What motive, then, could have such influence in their bo- 
som v ? What motive'? That', which Nature, the common pa- 
rent', plants in the bosom of man\ and which, though it may 
be less active in the Indian' than in the Englishman', is still 
congenial with' and makes part of hisbeing\ 

Banish'd from Rome ? What's banisWd" but set free 

From daily contact of the things I loathe ? 

CIRCUMFLEX. 

Rule XVI. A certain sort of emphasis, which unites 
the rising and falling inflection on the same word, is call- 
ed circumflex. 

When the word terminates with the rising inflection, it 
is called the rising circumflex : if with the falling inflec- 
tion, the falling circumflex. 

The rising circumflex is marked thus, v, the falling, 
thus, A. 

EXAMPLES. 

Yes ; they will give enlightened freedom to our minds, who 
are themselves the slaves of passion', avarice", and pride\ 
Queen. Hamlet, you have your father much offended. 

A 

Hamlet. Mother, you have my father much offended. 

v 
Most courteous tyrants ! Romans ! rare patterns of humanity*' 

V A 

If you said so, then I said so. 

MONOTONE. 
Rule XVII. When ivords are not varied by inflection 
they are said to be 'pronounced in a Monotone. This is 
used when anything awful or sublime is to be expressed. 

* The last shall i may be considered as emphatic — the height of the climax— 
and of course takes the strong falling slide. 

b6 



48 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

EXAMPLES. 

O when he comes', 
Rous'd by the cry of wickedness extreme', 
To heaven ascending from some guilty land', 
Now, ripe for vengeance"", when he comes, array 1 d 
In all the terrors of Almighty wrath', — 
Forth from his bosom plucks his lingering arm', 
And on the miscreants pours destruction down", 
Who can abide his coming"? Who can bear 
His whole displeasured 

High on a throne of royal state, which far 
Outshone the wealth of Ormus, and oflnd, 
Or where the gorgeous east, with richest hand, 
Showers on her kings barbaric, pearls and gold, 
Satan exalted sat ! 

And in the bright blaze of thy festal hall', 
When vassals kneel, and kindred smile around thee', 
May ruin'd Bertram's pledge hiss in thine ear' — 
Joy to the proud dame of St. Aldobrand' , 
While his cold corse doth bleach beneath her towers s ! 
Oh, crested Lochiel, the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height'! 
Heaven' 's fire is around thee to blast and to burn. 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



LESSON I. 
Responsibilities of the Young. — Rev. Dr. Olin. 

Foe. the satisfaction of wants and liabilities which find no 
adequate provision in the fixed ideas and unyielding habits 
of veteran piety, the Gospel makes its appeal to the special 
endowments and adaptations of the young. " I have written 
to you, young men, because ye are strong, and the word of 
God abideth in you, and ye have overcome the wicked one." 
In the economy of Divine Providence, youth is endowed 
with peculiar attributes, on which the success of all great 
moral and social interests and enterprises is made depend- 
ent. 

This responsibility for the well-being of the race, which 
accrues to the young, in virtue of their providential endow- 
ments, is devolved upon them by an inevitable destiny. 
They are the predestined successors of all who now wield 
moral influence, and all who occupy positions of authority 
and power. They are moving incessantly onward toward 
this great inheritance, and the flight of years makes haste 
to bring them into contact with burdens and responsibilities, 
which they cannot elude or devolve upon others. Those 
who are now young must govern mankind. They must 
become the teachers of the race. They must become the 
world's lawgivers, and its dispensers of justice. They must 
manage its material interests — must plan and prosecute its 
improvements and ameliorations — must conduct its -wars 
and negotiations — must meet the unseen exigencies of the 
great future. God has provided no other teachers for that 
coming generation, which, in its turn, is destined to occupy 
this great field of action and probation, and to transmit to a 
still later posterity its character — its virtues, and vices, and 

3 



60 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Were we able to divest this great law of human existence 
of its inefficiency as a hackneyed truism, and clothe it in 
the freshness and potency of a newly-discovered truth, we 
should need no other argument to impress upon the young 
the duty of diligence and faithfulness in their high vocation ; 
for the young, though often rash and reckless of the future, 
are neither selfish nor malevolent. They would not thrust 
themselves upon the inheritance in reserve for them, with- 
out qualifications to preserve and improve it. They would 
not bring back upon the world the ignorance of the dark 
ages, nor reproduce upon the face of civilized society the 
horrible scenes of the reign of terror. They would not tar- 
nish the lustre of our national character by deeds of coward- 
ice, treachery, or dishonor. They would not give to the 
country a race of incompetent or profligate statesmen. They 
would recoil from the thought of occupying the pulpits of 
this Christian land, the strongholds of its morality and stern 
virtues, without the requisite qualifications of intelligence 
and piety. They would not dwarf and taint the public 
mind with a feeble, polluted literature, nor degrade the 
schools and liberal professions, to which this great republic 
looks for the men of the future — its orators, its teachers, the 
guides of its youth, and the leaders of its senates. 

And yet nothing is more certain than that those great inter- 
ests, one and all, look to the present generation of young 
men as their sole hope and resource. Nothing is less a 
matter of doubt than that these potent agencies, on which 
the well-being of a great nation depends, must speedily 
come under the direction of the young men who are now 
forming their characters, moral and intellectual—many of 
them wholly unconcerned about that future in which they 
have so deep a stake, and for which they will be held to a 
responsibility so fearful. 

We should place before the youth of this land only a 
very humble standard of duty and ambition, in urging them 
to such attainments as will merely enable them to maintain 
these institutions and social and moral enterprises in the 
present state of efficiency and usefulness. To do less than 
this would plainly be nothing less than treason against our 
country and common humanity. It cost our fathers infinite 
toil, and sacrifices, and precious blood, to raise this country 
to its present position, and to form such a heritage of light, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 51 

and liberty, and glory, as they are ready to bequeath to 
their sons ; and that young man must be dead to all high 
aspirations who does not burn with shame at the thought of 
transmitting it to posterity, enfeebled or dilapidated. One 
or two such recreant generations would plunge this free and 
glorious land into the darkness and wretchedness of its 
primitive barbarism, and make themselves the reproach of 
noble ancestors, and the scorn and byword of history. 

But the rising generation cannot even escape this foul dis- 
honor of wasting its inheritance, and betraying the sacred 
interests intrusted to it for the benefit of posterity, without 
high attainments in knowledge and virtue. Our fathers 
were a brave, intellectual, noble race ; and they who now 
sway the destinies of this country are educated, vigorous, 
laborious, enterprising men. The land is no doubt cursed 
with hordes of demagogues and pretenders, and its honors 
are too often bestowed upon the unworthy and incompetent. 
Still, the great body of our legislators, public officers, and 
professional men, are not grossly deficient either in literary 
attainments or intellectual vigor. There is a volcanic ener- 
gy at work in our enterprises of science, and fabrication, 
and internal improvement. 



LESSON II. 

The Two Pictures. — Horace Mann. 

I ask the young man who is just forming his habits of 
life, or just beginning to indulge those habitual trains of 
thought out of which habits grow, to look around him, and 
mark the examples whose fortune he would covet, or whose 
fate he would abhor. Even as we walk the streets we meet 
with exhibitions of each extreme. Here behold a patriarch, 
whose stock of vigor three score years and ten seem hardly 
to have impaired. His erect form, his firm step, his elastic 
limbs, his undimmed senses, are so many certificates of 
good conduct ; or, rather, so many jewels and orders of 
nobility, with which nature has honored him for his fidelity 
to her laws. His fair complexion shows that his blood has 
never been corrupted ; his pure health, that he has never 



52 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

yielded his digestive apparatus for a vintner's cess-pool ; 
his exact language and keen apprehension, that his brain 
has never been drugged or stupefied by the poison of the dis- 
tiller and tobacconist. Enjoying his appetites to the highest, 
he has preserved the power of enjoying them. Despite the 
moral of the school-boy's story, he has eaten his cake and 
still kept it. As he drains the cup of life, there are no lees 
at the bottom. His organs will reach the goal of existence 
together. Painlessly as a candle burns clown in its socket, 
so will he expire ; and a little imagination would convert 
him into another Enoch, translated from earth to a better 
world without the sting of death. 

But look at an opposite extreme, where an opposite his- 
tory is recorded. What wreck so shocking to behold as a 
wreck of a dissolute man — the vigor of life exhausted, and 
yet the first steps in an honorable career not yet taken ;• in 
himself a lazar-house of diseases ; dead, but by a heathen- 
ish custom of society, not buried ! Rogues have had the 
initial letter of their title burnt into the palms of their hands ; 
even for murder, Cain was only branded on the forehead ; 
but over the whole person of the debauchee or the inebriate, 
the signatures of infamy are written. 

How nature brands him with stigma and opprobrium ! 
How she hangs labels all over him, to testify her disgust at 
his existence, and to admonish others to beware of his ex- 
ample ! How she loosens all his joints, sends tremors along 
his muscles, and bends forward his frame, as if to bring him 
upon all-fours with kindred brutes, or to degrade him to the 
reptile's crawling ! How she disfigures his countenance, as 
if intent upon obliterating all traces of her own image, so 
that she may swear she never made him ! How she pours 
rheum over his eyes, sends foul spirits to inhabit his breath, 
and shrieks, as with a trumpet, from every pore of his body, 
" Behold a beast !" 

Such a man may be seen in the streets of our cities eveiy 
day : if rich enough, he may be found in the saloons, and at 
the tables of the " upper ten ;" but surely, to every man of pu- 
rity and honor, to every man whose wisdom as well as whose 
heart is unblemished — the wretch, who comes cropped and 
bleeding from the pillory, and redolent with its appropriate 
perfumes, would be a guest or companion far less offensive 
and disgusting. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 53 

Now let the young man, rejoicing in his manly perfec- 
tions, and in his comeliness, look on this picture and on this, 
and then say, after the likeness of which model he intends 
his own erect stature and sublime countenance shall be con- 
figured. 



LESSON III. 

Sea- Sickness. — Rev. Dr. Fisk. 

If I supposed that any sketch of this disease would pro- 
duce even the premonitory symptoms upon my readers, I 
could not find it in my heart to inflict the misery upon one 
of the sons of Adam — except on the physicians ; nor even 
upon them, except in hope that it would put them upon extra 
exertions to find a cure. 

The theory, which I believe has gained extensive author- 
ity with the faculty, and which certainly seems very plau- 
sible, and accords well with many of the symptoms, is, that 
sea-sickness is the inversion of the peristaltic motion of the 
digestive muscles through the stomach and viscera. Alas ! 
what a picture of this distressing disorder ! Only conceive 
the unpleasant sensation which this unnatural action must 
produce ! the loathing, the shrinking back, and the spasmod- 
ic actions of all the digestive organs ! And when this sys- 
tem of internal " agitation" is begun, it is increased by its 
own action. The spasm increases the irritation, and the ir- 
ritation increases the susceptibility to spasmodic action, until 
the coats of the stomach, and all the abdominal viscera, are 
convulsed. 

The sensations produced, however, are not those of pain, 
as we commonly use the term, but of loathing — of sickness 
— of deathlike sickness — until nature is wearied, and the 
poor sufferer feels that life itself is a burden. He is told he 
must not give up to it — he must keep about, take the air, 
and drive it off. At first he thinks he will — he believes he 
can — and, perhaps, after the first complete action of his 
nausea, feels relieved, and imagines that he has conquered ; 
but another surge comes on, and rolls him and his vessel a 
few feet upward ; and again she sinks, and he with her — but 
not all of him ; his body goes down with the vessel, as it is 



54 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

meet it should, according to the laws of gravitation ; but 
that which his body contains cannot make ready for so 
speedy a descent. The contained has received an impetus 
upward, and it keeps on in this direction, while the container 
goes down with the ship. The result may readily be inferred. 

But even then the worst is still to come. When the up- 
ward action, the distressing nausea, the convulsive retching, 
continue, the deeper secretions are disturbed, and the mouth 
is literally filled with gall and bitterness. All objects 
around you now lose their interest ; the sea has neither 
beauty nor sublimity ; the roaring of the wave is like the 
wail of death ; the careening of the ship before the wind, 
" like a thing of life," is but the hastening and aggravation 
of agony. Your sympathy, if not lost, is paralyzed : your 
dear friend — perhaps the wife of your bosom — is suffering 
at the same time, but you have not the moral courage, if 
you have the heart, to go to her assistance. And even that 
very self, which is so absorbing and so exclusive, seems 
hardly so interesting as to be worth an existence. 

If the theory already alluded to, of the inversion of the 
peristaltic motion, be true, it may yet be a curious, and 
perhaps not unprofitable physiological inquiry, what are the 
intermediate links between the motion of the vessel, which 
is obviously the primum mobile of all the agitation, and this 
inverted action of the digestive organs ? Is this latter the 
effect of a previous action upon the nervous system ? Is it 
the effect of sympathy between the brain and the stomach 1 
If a nervous derangement is a prior link, are the nerves 
wrought upon by the imagination ? and, if so, through what 
sense is this imagination affected ? Is it through the gen- 
eral feelings of the frame, the entire system, or is it chiefly 
through the organ of sight ? I have not skill or knowledge 
sufficient to answer these questions. I cannot but think, 
however, that the eye has much to do in this matter. If 
you look at the vessel in motion, it seems to increase the 
difficulty ; and hence, while under the influence of the dis- 
ease, you cannot bear to look on anything around you, but 
are disposed to close the windows of the soul, and give your- 
self up to dark and gloomy endurance. 

One of the social, or rather arcfo'-social concomitants of 
this disease is, that it excites but little pity in those around 
you, who are not suffering. One tells you, " It will do you 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 66 

good." This is the highest comfort you get. Another as- 
sures you that it is not a mortal disease, and that you will 
feel a great deal better when it is over. (" Hope so," 
thought I.) Another laughs you in the face, with some 
atrocious pleasantry about " casting up accounts," or " pay- 
ing duties to old Neptune." A " searching operation," this 
paying custom to the watery king ! My friends forewarned 
me of the vexations of the custom-house, before I left Amer- 
ica; and, if this is a fair specimen, I shall beg to be ex- 
cused from the further prosecution of my tour. If his ma- 
jesty demanded but a large per centage of your wares, it 
might be tolerable ; but he takes all you have : he searches 
you through and through. 



LESSON IV. 

Futv/re Prospects of the American Continent. — Encyclopjs 

DIA BRITANNICA. 

It was the astonishing progress of the United States 
that first clearly unfolded the principles on which the mul- 
tiplication of human beings depends. We know with 
certainty that a prosperous community, possessing abun- 
dance of unoccupied land, will double its numbers in twen- 
ty-five years, without aid from emigration ; and, as the scale 
ascends in a geometrical ratio, a short time necessarily pro- 
duces a wonderful change. In the United States the whites 
increase at the rate of three or three and a half per cent, 
per annum; and when the Spanish American republics 
have settled down in a tranquil state, there is no doubt that 
their white inhabitants will multiply at the same rate. 

In 1830, the entire white population being estimated at 
twenty-one millions, this number, in 1855, will be increased 
to forty-two millions ; in 18S0, to eighty-four millions ; in 
1905, to one hundred and sixty-eight millions ; and in 1930, 
to three hundred and thirty millions. As the difficulty of 
providing for the growing animal increment of inhabitants 
must increase with the magnitude of the population, let us 
assume, that at the end of a century, the rate of increase 
falls to two per cent. The period of doubling will then 
be thirty-six years ; consequently, the white population in 



56 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



196G, will be six hundred and seventy-two millions ; in 
2002, it will be one billion three hundred and forty-four 
millions ; and in 2030, it will be two billions six hundred and 
eighty-eight millions. 

Thus, in two centuries, the whites now in America 
would multiply to a mass of people three times as great as 
are at present on the whole surface of the globe. Of the 
thirty-one millions of square miles which compose Europe, 
Asia and Africa, we cannot find that the productive soil 
constitutes so much as one-third, and of that third a part 
is poor. The whole surface of the American continent 
contains thirteen millions nine hundred thousand square 
miles, and deducting three millions nine hundred thousand 
as arid soil, there are left ten millions as soil of a produc- 
tive quality. 

The degree of productiveness depends on climate ; it 
follows, that if the natural resources of America were fully 
developed, it would afford sustenance to three billions six 
hundred millions of inhabitants — a number five times as 
great as the entire mass of human beings existing at pre- 
sent upon the globe. And what is more surprising, there 
is every probability that this prodigious population will be 
in existence within three, or, at most, four centuries. The 
imagination is lost in contemplating a state of things which 
will make so great and rapid a change in the condition of 
the world. 

We almost fancy that it is a dream ; and yet the result 
is based on principles quite as certain as those which gov- 
ern the conduct of men in their ordinary pursuits. There 
are many elements of disorder now operating in Spanish 
America, but these are merely the dregs left by the old 
Spanish despotisms ; and the Anglo-American republic is a 
pole-star to guide the people in their course towards free- 
dom and prosperity. 

Nearly all social improvements spring from the recipro- 
cal influence of condensed numbers and diffused intelli- 
gence. What, then, will be the state of society in Amer- 
ica two centuries hence, when a thousand millions of civil- 
ized men are crowded into a space comparatively so nar- 
row, and when this immense mass of human beings speak 
only two languages, or what is as likely, only one language, 
the English ] History shows that wealth, power, science 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 57 

literature, all follow in the train of numbers, general intel- 
ligence and freedom. 

The same causes which transferred the sceptre of civili- 
zation from the banks of the Euphrates and the Nile to 
western Europe, must in the course of no long period, 
carry it from the latter to the plains of the Mississippi and 
the Amazon. — Society, after all, is in its infancy ; the hab- 
itable world, when its productive powers are regarded, 
may be said hitherto to have been an untenanted waste. 

If any one suspects us of drawing on our fancy, we 
would request him to examine thoroughly the condition 
and past progress of the North American Republic. Let 
him look at its amazing strides in wealth, intelligence, and 
social improvement; at its indestructible liberty; and 
above all, at the prodigious growth of its population — and 
let him answer the question to himself, what power can 
stop the tide of civilization which is pouring from its sin- 
gle source over an unoccupied world ] 



. LESSON V. 
Human Progress. — Chapin. 

Let us clearly understand what is meant by Human Pro- 
gress. It must be distinctly separated from the doctrine of 
Human Perfectibility. That men in this world will ever 
be, in all respects, perfect, is one doctrine — and that men 
will pass from lower degrees of excellence up to higher, 
and maintain their advantage, is another doctrine. This 
last is the doctrine of Human Progress. That our age 
holds an amount of refinement and civilization that prece- 
ding ages did not have, seems evident. We may not see 
minutely how this operation of human progress goes on — 
we may not be able to trace the transfusion of the good 
and the true through every particle and member. But we 
see the grand result. 

So the great ocean comes on imperceptibly. Men build 
their huts at the foot of some huge mountain, and till the 
green fields that spread out before them — thinking noth- 
ing so permanent. But, by and by, other men come that 

b6 



58 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

way, and the green fields are all gone. The summer fruit 
has long since been gathered. Where the husbandman 
found his wealth, the fisher draws his support — where the 
sickles whispered to the bending corn, the ships of war go 
sheeting by — and the old mountain has become a grey and 
wave-beaten crag, a landmark to the distant mariner, and 
a turret where the sea-bird screams. 

But this was accomplished imperceptibly. One genera- 
tion may not have witnessed the advancement of the wa- 
ters — another may have passed away without noting it ; 
but slowly they kept advancing. And by and by, all men 
saw it — saw the grand result, though they did not mark 
each successive operation. So with human progress. 
One age may scarcely observe it, and another may die 
without faith in it; but we must take some distant period 
that is not too closely blended with our time, and compare 
that with the present, and in the grand result we shall dis- 
cover that there has been human progress. 

Still, some may say, " Yes, there has been progress, but 
not over the whole world — there have been salient points, 
but also retreating angles, and when you speak of human 
progress you must appeal to the world, at large — say, has 
that advanced]" I answer, that in the world, somewhere, 
there has been a constant tendency to advancement. Even 
the dark times have been seasons of fruition — the middle 
ages nourished and prepared glorious elements of human 
reformation. If one nation has lost the thread of human 
advancement, another has taken it up — and so the work 
has gone forward ; if not in the race, as a whole, at any 
one time, yet in the race somewhere. 

But the race is fundamentally the same, and what may 
be predicated of a portion of mankind as belonging essen- 
tially to humanity, may be predicated of the whole, and so 
in the advancement of a portion of the race, the whole be- 
comes hopeful. The capacity of the race for progress has 
been demonstrated. Is that capacity never to be gratified] 
Though the period never has been that all the race were 
at the same time on the same level — who shall say that the 
time never will come ] That it never can come ] Who 
shall say, so long as the capacity exists, how quick the 
transfusion of what is excellent in one portion may ba 
made through the whole ] 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 59 

A victory over the formal Asiatic, gTim and bloody as it 
is, may be one agent of such transfusion. A triumph of 
machinery may help to accomplish it. The steam-car may 
carry truth and light over drifted deserts and frozen moun- 
tains. The march of opinion, aided by circumstances, 
may penetrate to lands that never knew the commerce of 
Phoenicia, or the wisdom of Athens — where Alexander 
never ventured with his hosts, and where Caesar turned 
back his eagles. 

This is the main point — not universal progress, but hu- 
man progress — not progress everywhere, but progress some- 
icherc. Grant but that, and all humanity becomes hopeful 
— grant but the capacity, and the doctrine is practicable — 
let the law be in operation only at one point, still it is a 
law, and as such is to be heeded and acted upon. Old no- 
tions may die, but new notions shall spring up. Let the 
principle be at work, and no one can limit the result. 

It may take a longer sweep of ages than have yet pass- 
ed over mankind, to bring all nations to the same point of 
advancement; some nations, now here and now there, 
may always be in advance of others, yet if the others ad- 
vance also, the great law will be in operation. And no 
people shall have lived or died in vain. Into the deepest 
sepulchres of the Old and the Past a new life shall be kin- 
dled, showing that they have not waited so long for noth- 
ing. Dim Meroe will shout freedom from beyond the 
fountains of the Nile, and the stony lips of the Sphynx 
shall preach the Gospel ! 



LESSON VI. 

Damon and Pythias. — Brooke. 

When Damon was sentenced by Dionysius of Syracuse 
to die on a certain day, he begged permission, in the in- 
terim, to retire to his own country, to set the affairs of his 
disconsolate family in order. This the king intended per- 
emptorily to refuse, by granting it, as he conceived, on the 
impossible condition of his procuring some one to remain 
as hostage for his return, under equal forfeiture of life. 



60 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Pythias heard the conditions, and did not wait for an ap- 
plication upon the part of Damon. He instantly offered 
himself as security for his friend ; which being accepted, 
Damon was immediately set at liberty. 

The king and all the courtiers were astonished at this 
action ; and, therefore, when the day of execution drew 
near, his majesty had the curiosity to visit Pythias in his 
confinement. After some conversation on the subject of 
friendship, in which the king delivered it as his opinion, 
that self-interest was the sole mover of human actions; as 
for virtue, friendship, benevolence, love of one's country, 
and the like, he looked upon them as terms invented by 
the wise, to keep in awe and impose upon the weak — 
" My lord," said Pythias, with a firm voice and noble as- 
pect, " I would it were possible that I might suffer a thou- 
sand deaths, rather than my friend should fail in any arti- 
cle of his honour. He cannot fail therein, my lord. I am 
as confident of his virtue, as I am of my own existence. — 
But I pray, I beseech the gods, to preserve the life and in- 
tegrity of my Damon together. Oppose him, ye winds ! 
prevent the eagerness and impatience of his honourable 
endeavours, and suffer him not to arrive, till, by my death, 
I shall have redeemed a life a thousand times of more con- 
sequence, of more value, than my own ; more estimable to 
his lovely wife, to his precious little innocents, to his 
friends, to his country. O leave me not to die the worst of 
deaths in my Damon!" 

Dionysius was awed and confounded by the dignity of 
these sentiments, and by the manner in which they were ut- 
tered: he felt his heart struck by a slight sense of invading 
truth; but it served rather to perplex than undeceive him. 
The fatal day arrived. Pythias was brought forth, and 
walked amidst the guards with a serious, but satisfied air, 
to the place of execution. Dionysius was already there ; he 
was exalted on a moving throne, that was drawn by six 
white horses, and sat pensive, and attentive to the prison- 
er. Pythias came ; he vaulted lightly on the scaffold, and, 
beholding for some time the apparatus of death, he turned 
with a placid countenance, and addressed the spectators: 
"My prayers are heard," he cried: "the gods are propi- 
tious ! You know, my friends, that the winds have been 
contrary till yesterday. Damon could not come ; he could 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 61 

not conquer impossibilities ; he will be here to-morrow, and 
the blood which is shed to-day shall have ransomed the life 
of my friend. Oh, could I erase from your bosom every 
doubt, every mean suspicion, of the honour of the man for 
whom I am about to suffer, I should go to my death, even 
as I would to my bridal. Be it sufficient, in the mean time, 
that my friend will be found noble ; that his truth is unim- 
peachable ; that he will speedily prove it; that he is now on 
his way, hurrying on, accusing himself, the adverse ele- 
ments, and the gods: but I hasten to prevent his speed. — 
Executioner, do your office." 

As he pronounced the last words, a buzz began to rise 
among the remotest of the people — a distant voice was 
heard — the crowd caught the words, and, "stop, stop the 
execution, " was repeated by the whole assembly. A man 
came at full speed — the throng gave way to his approach : 
he was mounted on a steed of foam: in an instant, he was 
off his horse, on the scaffold, and held Pythias tightly em- 
braced. 

" You are safe, " he cried, " you are safe ! My friend, my 
beloved friend, the gods be praised, you are safe! I now 
have nothing but death to suffer, and am delivered from the 
anguish of those reproaches which I gave myself, for having 
endangered a life so much dearer than my own." 

Pale, cold, and half-speechless, in the arms of his Damon, 
Pythias replied, in broken accents — " Fatal haste ! — Cruel 
impatience ! — What envious powers have wrought impos- 
sibilities in your favour] — But I will not be wholly disap- 
pointed. — Since I cannot die to save, I will not survive 
you." Dionysius heard, beheld, and considered all with 
astonishment. His heart was touched; he wept; and, 
leaving his throne, he ascended the scaffold. " Live, live, 
ye incompaiable pair !" he cried; " ye have borne unques- 
tionable testimony to the existence of virtue ! and that vir- 
tue equally evinces the existence of a God to reward it. 
Live happy, live renowned : and, oh ! form me by your 
precepts, as ye have invited me by your example, to be 
worthy the participation of so sacred a friendship." 



62 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



LESSON VII. 

On the Abuse of Genius, with reference to the Works 
of Lord Byron. — Knowles. 

I have endeavoured to show, that the intrinsic value of 
genius is a secondary consideration, compared to the use 
to which it is applied; that genius ought to be estimated 
chiefly by the character of the subject upon which it is em- 
ployed, or of the cause which it advocates — considering it, 
in fact, as a mere instrument, a weapon, a sword, which 
may be used in a good cause, or in a bad one; may be 
wielded by a patriot, or a highwayman ; may give protec- 
tion to the dearest interests of society, or may threaten 
those interests with the irruption of pride, and profligacy, 
and folly — of all the vices which compose the curse and 
degradation of our species. 

I am the more disposed to dwell a little upon this sub- 
ject, because I am persuaded that it is not sufficiently at- 
tended to — nay, that in ninety-nine instances out of a hun- 
dred, it is not attended to at all : — that works of imagina- 
tion are perused, for the sake of the wit which they dis- 
play; which wit not only reconciles us to, but endears to 
us, opinions, and feelings, and habits, at war with wisdom 
and morality — to say nothing of religion : — in short, that 
we admire the polish, the temper, and shape of the sword, 
and the dexterity with which it is wielded, though it is 
the property of a lunatic, or of a bravo; though it is bran- 
dished in the face of wisdom and virtue ; and, at every 
wheel, threatens to inflict a wound, that will disfigure s ome 
feature, or lop some member ; or, with masterly adroitness 
aims a death-thrust at the heart ! 

I would deprive genius of the worship that is paid to it, 
for its own sake. Instead of allowing it to dictate to the 
world, I would have the world dictate to it — dictate to it, 
so far as the vital interests of society are affected. I know 
it is the opinion of many, that the moral of mere poetry is 
of little avail ; that we are charmed by its melody and wit, 
and uninjured by its levity and profaneness ; and hence, 
many a thing has been allowed in poetry, which would 



TIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 63 

have been scouted, deprecated, reviled, had it appeared in 
prose : as if vice and folly were less pernicious, for being 
introduced to us with an elegant and insinuating address ; 
or, as if the graceful folds and polished scales of a serpent, 
were an antidote against the venom of its stino-. 

There is not a more prolific source of human error, than 
that railing at the world, which obtrudes itself so frequently 
upon our attention, in the perusing of Lord Byron's poems 
— that sickness of disgust, which begins its indecent heav- 
ings, whensoever the idea of the species forces itself upon 
him. The species is not perfect ; but it retains too much 
of the image of its Maker, preserves too many evidences of 
the modelling of the hand that fashioned it, is too near to 
the hovering providence of its disregarded, but still cherish- 
ing Author, to excuse, far less to call for, or justify, deser- 
tion, or disclaiming, or revilings, upon the part of any one of 
its members. 

I know not a more pitiable object, than the man, who, 
standing upon the pigmy eminence of his own self-impor- 
tance, looks around upon the species, with an eye that never 
throws a beam of satisfaction on the prospect, but visits with 
a scowl whatsoever it lights upon. The world is not that 
reprobate world, that it should be cut off from the visitation 
of charity ; that it should be represented, as having no alter- 
native, but to inflict or bear. Life is not one continued 
scene of wrestling with our fellows. Mankind are not for 
ever grappling one another by the throat. There is such a 
thing as the grasp of friendship, as the outstretched hand of 
benevolence, as an interchange of good offices, as a ming- 
ling, a crowding, a straining together, for the relief, or the 
benefit of our species. 

The moral he thus inculcates, is one of the most baneful 
tendency. The principle of self-love — implanted in us for 
the best, but capable of being perverted to the worst of pur- 
poses — by a fatal abuse, too often disposes to indulge in this 
sweeping depreciation of the species, founded upon some 
fallacious idea of superior value in ourselves ; with which 
imaginary excellence we conceive the world to be at war. 
A greater source of error cannot exist 



64 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON VIII. 
To The Rainbow. — Campbell. 

Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky 
When storms prepare to part, 

I ask not proud philosophy 
To teach me what thou art. 

Still seem, as to my childhood's sight, 

A midway station given 
For happy spirits to alight 

Betwixt the earth and heaven. 

Can all that optics teach, unfold 
Thy form to please me so, 

As when I dreamt of gems and gold 
Hid in thy radiant bow ] 

When Science from Creation's face 
Enchantment's veil withdraws, 

What lovely visions yield their place 
To cold material laws. 

^And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, 
But words of the Most High, 

Have told, why first thy robe of beams 
Was woven in the sky. 

When o'er the green undeluged earth 
Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, 

How came the world's gray fathers forth 
To watch thy sacred sign ! 

And when its yellow lustre smiled 
O'er mountains yet untrod, 

Each mother held aloft her child 
To bless the bow of God. 

Methinks, thy jubilee to keep, 
The first-made anthem rang, 

On earth delivered from the deep, 
And the first poet san«-. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 65 

Nor ever shall the Muse's eye 

Unraptured greet thy beam : 
Theme of primeval prophecy, 

Be still the poet's theme. 

The earth to thee its incense yields, 

The lark thy welcome sings, 
When glittering in the freshened fields 

The snowy mushroom springs. 

How glorious is thy girdle cast 

O'er mountain, tower, and town ! 
Oi mirrored in the ocean vast, 

A thousand fathoms down ! 

As fresh in yon horizon dark, 

As young thy beauties seem, 
As when the eagle from the ark 

First sported in thy beam. 

For, faithful to its sacred page, 

Heaven still rebuilds thy span, 
Nor lets the type grow pale with age 

That first spoke peace to man. 



LESSON IX. 
The Battle-Field.— W. C. Bryant. 

Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, 
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, 

And fiery hearts and armed hands 
Encountered in the battle-cloud. 

Ah, never shall the land forget 

How gushed the life-blood of her brave- 
Gushed, warm with hope and valour yet, 

Upon the soil they fought to save. 

Now all is calm and fresh and still; 

Alone the chirp of flitting bird, 
And talk of children on the hill, 

And bell of wandering kine, are heard. 



66 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

No solemn host goes trailing by 

The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain \ 
Men start not at the battle-cry — 

Oh, be it never heard again ! 

Soon rested those who fought — but thou. 
Who minglest in the harder strife 

For truths which men receive not now — 
Thy warfare only ends with life. 

A friendless warfare ! lingering long 
Though weary day and weary year ; 

A wild and many-weaponed throng 
Hang on thy front and flank and rear. 

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, 
And blench not at thy chosen lot ! 

The timid good may stand aloof, 

The sage may frown — yet faint thou not \ 

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, 
The hissing, stinging bolt of scorn ; 

For with thy side shall dwell, at last, 
The victory of endurance born. 

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again ; 

Th' eternal years of God are hers; 
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, 

And dies among his worshippers. 

Yea, though thou die upon the dust, 

When those who helped thee flee in fear, 

Die full of hope and manly trust, 
Like those who fell in battle here ; 

Another hand thy sword shall wield, 
Another hand the standard wave, 

Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed 
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 67 

LESSON X. 
The Broken Heart. — Percival. 

He has gone to the land where the dead are still, 

And mute tjie song of gladness ; 
He drank at the cup of grief his fill, 

And his life was a dream of madness ; 
The victim of Fancy's torturing spell, 

From hope to darkness driven, 
His agony was the rack of hell, 

His joy the thrill of heaven. 

He has gone to the land where the dead are cold, 

And thought will sting him, never ; 
The tomb its darkest veil has rolled 

O'er all his faults forever ; 
O ! there was a light that shone within 

The gloom that hung around him ; 
His heart was formed to woo and win, 

But love had never crowned him. 

He has gone to the land where the dead may rest 

In a soft unbroken slumber ; 
Where the pulse that swelled his anguished breast 

Shall never his tortures number ; 
Ah ! little the reckless witlings know 

How keenly throbbed and smarted 
That bosom which burned with the brightest glow 

Till crushed and broken-hearted. 

He longed to love, and a frown was all 

The cold and thoughtless gave him ; 
He sprang to Ambition's trumpet call, 

But back they rudely drave him ; 
He glowed with a spirit pure and high — 

They called the feeling madness ; 
And he wept for wo, with a melting eye— 

'Twas weak and moody sadness. 



68 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

He sought, with an ardor full and keen, 

To rise to a noble station, 
But repulsed by the proud, the cold, the mean, 

He sank in desperation ; 
They called him away to pleasure's bowers, 

But gave him a poisoned chalice, 
And from her alluring wreath of flowers 

They glanced the grin of malice. 

He felt that the charm of life was gone, 

That his hopes were chilled and blasted, 
That being wearily lingered on 

In sadness, while it lasted ; 
He turned to the picture fancy drew, 

Which he thought would darken never ; 
It fled ; to the damp cold grave he flew, 

And he sleeps with the dead forever. 



LESSON XL 

Against the American War. — Lord Chatham. 

I cannot, my lords, I will not, join in congratulation on 
misfortune and disgrace. This, my lords, is a perilous and 
tremendous moment. It is not a time for adulation : the 
smoothness of flattery cannot save us in this rugged and aw- 
ful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct the throne in the 
language of truth. We must, if possible, dispel the delu- 
sion and darkness which envelope it, and display, in its full 
danger and genuine colours, the ruin which is brought to 
our doors. Can ministers still presume to expect support 
in their infatuation ? Can parliament be so dead to its dig- 
nity and duty, as to give their support to measures thus ob- 
truded and forced upon them ? Measures, my lords, which 
have reduced this late flourishing empire to scorn and con- 
tempt ! u But yesterday, and Britain might have stood 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 69 

against the world; now, none so poor as to do her reve- 
rence !" 

The people, whom we at first despised as rebels, but 
whom we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted against 
us, supplied with every military store, have their interest 
consulted, and their ambassadors entertained, by our invet- 
erate enemy — and ministers do not, and dare not, interpose 
with dignity or effect. The desperate state of our army 
abroad is in part known. No man more highly esteems 
and honours the British troops than I do ; I know their vir- 
tues and their valour ; I know they can achieve any thing 
but impossibilities ; and I know that the conquest of British 
America is an impossibility. You cannot, my lords, you 
cannot conquer America. What is your present situation 
there % We do not know the tvorst ; but we know that in 
three campaigns we have done nothing, and suffered much. 

You may swell every expense, accumulate every assis- 
tance, and extend your traffic to the shambles of every Ger- 
man despot ; your attempts will be for ever vain and impotent 
— doubly so, indeed, from this mercenary aid on which you 
rely ; for it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the minds 
of your adversaries, to overrun them with the mercenary 
sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them and their pos- 
sessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. If I were an 
American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop 
was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms 
— never, never, never ! 

But, my lords, who is the man that, in addition to the 
disgraces and mischiefs of the war, has dared to authorize 
and associate to our arms the tomahawk and scalping-knife 
of the savage ] — to call into civilized alliance, the wild and 
inhuman inhabitant of the woods ] — to delegate to the mer- 
ciless Indian the defence of disputed rights, and to wage 
the horrors of his barbarous war against our brethren % My 
lords, these enormities cry aloud for redress and punish 
ment. But, my lords, this barbarous measure has been de- 
fended, not only on the princij^les of policy and necessity, 
but also on those of morality ; " for it is perfectly allow- 
able," says Lord Suffolk, " to use all the means which God 
and nature have put into our hands." I am astonished, I 
am shocked, to hear such principles confessed; to hear 
them avowed in this house, or in this country. 



70 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

My lords, I did not intend to encroach so much on your 
attention, but I cannot repress my indignation — I feel my- 
self impelled to speak. My lords, we are called upon, as 
members of this house, as men, as Christians, to protest 
against such horrible barbarity ! — " That God and nature 
have put into our hands VI What ideas of God and nature 
that noble lord may entertain, I know not ; but I know, that 
such detestable principles are equally abhorrent to religion 
and humanity. 

What ! to attribute the sacred sanction of God and nature 
to the massacres of the Indian scalping-knife ! to the canni- 
bal savage, torturing, murdering, devouring, drinking the 
blood of his mangled victims ! Such notions shock every 
precept of morality, every feeling of humanity, every senti- 
ment of honour. These abominable principles, and this 
more abominable avowal of them, demand the most decisive 
indignation. 

I call upon that right reverend, and this most learned 
bench, to vindicate the religion of their God, to support 
the justice of their country. I call upon the bishops to in- 
terpose the unsullied sanctity of their lawn ; upon the 
judges, to interpose the purity of their ermine, to save us 
from this pollution. 

I call upon the honour of your lordships, to reverence the 
dignity of your ancestors, and to maintain your own. I call 
upon the spirit and humanity of my country, to vindicate the 
national character. I invoke the genius of the constitution. 
From the tapestry that adorns these walls, the immortal 
ancestor of this noble lord frowns with indignation at the 
disgrace of his country. 

To send forth the merciless cannibal, thirsting for blood ! 
against whom ? — your Protestant brethren ! — to lay waste 
their country, to desolate their dwellings, and extirpate 
their race and name, by the aid and instrumentality of these 
horrible hounds of war ! Spain can no longer boast pre- 
eminence in barbarity. She armed herself with blood- 
hounds, to extirpate the wretched natives of Mexico ; we, 
more ruthless, loose these dogs of war against our country- 
men in America, endeared to us by every tie that can sanc- 
tify humanity. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 71 

I solemnly call upon your lordships, and upon every or- 
der of men in the state, to stamp upon this infamous pro- 
cedure the indelible stigma of the public abhorrence. 
More particularly, I call upon the holy prelates of our reli- 
gion to do away this iniquity ; let them perform a lustration, 
to purify the countiy from this deep and deadly sin. My 
lords, I am old and weak, and at present unable to say more ; 
but my feelings and indignation were too strong to have 
said less. I could not have slept this night in my bed, nor 
even reposed my head upon my pillow, without giving vent 
to my eternal abhorrence of such enormous and preposter- 
ous principles. 



LESSON XII. 

Reply to the Duke of Grafton. — Lord Thurlow. 

[The duke had (in the House of Lords) reproached Lord Thurlow 
with his plebeian extraction, and his recent admission to the peerage. 
Lord Thurlow rose from the woolsack, and advanced slowly to the 
place from which the chancellor addresses the house; then fixing his 
eye upon the duke, spoke as follows.] 

My lords, I am amazed, yes, my lords, I am amazed at 
his grace's speech. The noble duke cannot look before him, 
behind him, or on either side of him, without seeing some 
noble peer, who owes his seat in this house to his success- 
ful exertions in the profession to which I belong. Does he 
not feel that it is as honourable to owe it to these, as to being 
the accident of an accident ] To all these noble lords, the 
language of the noble duke is as applicable and insulting as 
it is to myself. But I do not fear to meet it single and 
alone. No one venerates the peerage more than I do. 
But, my lords, I must say that the peerage solicited me, not 
I the peerage. 

Nay, more, I can and will say, that, as a peer of parlia- 
ment, as speaker of this right honourable house, as keeper 
of the great seal, as' guardian of his majesty's conscience, as 
lord high chancellor of England, nay, even in that character 
alone, in which the noble duke would think it an affront to 
he considered, but which character none can deny me— »as a 



72 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



Man, I am at this moment as respectable, I beg leave to add, 
as much respected, as the proudest peer I now look down 
iroon 



LESSON XIII. 

Speech in favour of the War of the Revolution. — Patrick 
Henry. 

Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illu- 
sions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a pain- 
ful truth, and listen to the song of that syren, till she trans- 
forms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engag- 
ed in a great and arduous struggle for liberty 1 Are we 
disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see 
not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly 
concern our temporal salvation ? For my part, whatever 
anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole 
truth ; to know the worst, and to provide for it. 

I have but one lamp, by which my feet are guided; and 
that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judg- 
ing of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, 
I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the 
British ministry for the last ten years, to justify those hopes 
with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace them- 
selves and the house 1 Is it that insidious smile with which 
our petition has been lately received 1 Trust it not, sir; it 
will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to 
be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious 
reception of our petition comports with those warlike prepa- 
rations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are 
fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconcilia- 
tion] Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be recon- 
ciled, that force must be called in to win back our love ] 

Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the imple- 
ments of war and subjugation ; the last arguments to which 
kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this mar- 
tial array, if its purpose be not to force*us to submission ] 
Can [{^nt]empn assign any other possible motive for it % 
Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world, 
to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies ] No. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 73 

sir, she has none. They are meant for us : they can be 
meant lor no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet 
upon us those chains, which the British ministry have been 
so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them ] 
Shall we try argument 1 Sir, we have been trying that for 
the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon 
the subject 1 Nothing. We have held the subject up in 
every light of which it is capable ; but it has been all in 
vain. 

Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication 1 
"What terms shall we find which have not already been ex- 
hausted ] Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves 
longer. Sir, we have done every thing that could be done, 
to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have 
petitioned, we have remonstrated, we have supplicated, we 
have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have im- 
plored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the 
ministry and parliament. Our petitions have been slight- 
ed ; our remonstrances have produced additional violence 
and insult ; our supplications have been disregarded ; and 
we have been spurned with contempt from the foot of the 
throne. 

In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope 
of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room 
for hope. If we wish to be free, if we mean to preserve 
inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have 
been so long contending, if we mean not basely to abandon 
the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, 
and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until 
the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, we 
must fight ; I repeat it, sir, we must fight ! An appeal to 
arms, and to the God of Hosts, is all that is left us ! 

They tell us, sir, that we are weak, unable to cope with 
so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be strong- 
er ] Will it be the next week, or the next year ? Will it 
be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British 
guard shall be stationed in every house ] Shall we gather 
strength by irresolution and inaction ] Shall we acquire 
the means of effectual resistance, by lying supinely on our 
backs, and hugging the delusive jjhantom of hope, until our 
enemies shall have bound, us hand and foot ] Sir, we are 
not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which 
cl 



74 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three mil- 
lions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in 
such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by 
any force which our enemy can send against us. 

Besides, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a 
just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and 
who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The 
battle, sir, is not to the strong alone ; it is to the vigilant, 
the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. 
If we are base enough to desire it, it is now too late to re- 
tire from the contest. There is no retreat, but in submis- 
sion and slavery. Our chains are forged. Their clanking 
may be heard on the plains of Boston. The war is inevi- 
table, and let it come ! I repeat it, sir, let it come ! 

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen 
may cry peace, peace ! but there is no peace ! The war 
is actually begun ! The next gale that sweeps from the 
north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms ! 
Our brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we here 
idle 1 What is it that gentlemen wish ] What would they 
have % Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchas- 
ed at the price of chains and slavery. Forbid it, Almighty 
God ! I know not what course others may take ; but as 
for me, give me liberty, or give me death ! 



LESSON XIV. 

Supposed Speech of John Adams in favour of signing the De- 
claration of Independence. — D. Webster. 

Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my 
hand and my heart to this vote ! It is time, indeed, that in 
the beginning, we aimed not at independence. But there 
is a Divinity which shapes our ends. The injustice of 
England has driven us to arms ; and, blinded to her own 
interest, for our good she has obstinately persisted, till in- 
dependence is now within our grasp. We have but to 
reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why, then, should we 
defer the declaration 1 Is any man so weak as now to 
hope for a reconciliation with England, which shall leave 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 75 

either safety to the country and its liberties, or safety to 
his own life, and hit? own honour 1 Are not you, sir, who 
sit in that chair; is not he, our venerable colleague near 
you ; are not both already the proscribed and predestined 
objects of punishment and of vengeance'? Cut off from 
all hope of royal clemency, what are you, what can you be, 
while the power of England remains, but outlaws ? 

If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, 
or give up, the war ] Do we mean to submit to the mea- 
sures of Parliament, Boston port-bill, and all 1 Do we mean 
to submit, and consent that we ourselves shall be ground 
to powder, and our country and its rights trodden down in 
the dust ] I know we do not mean to submit. We never 
shall submit. Do we intend to violate that most solemn 
obligation ever entered into by men — that plighting, before 
God, of our sacred honour to Washington, when, putting 
him forth to incur the dangers of war, as well as the poli- 
tical hazards of the times, we promised to adhere to him, in 
every extremity, with our fortunes and our lives 1 

I know there is not a man here, who would not rather 
see a general conflagration sweep over the land, or an 
earthquake sink it, than one jot or tittle of that plighted 
faith fall to the ground. For myself, having twelve months 
ago, in this place, moved you, that George Washington be 
appointed commander of the forces, raised, or to be raised, 
for defence of American liberty, may my right hand forget 
its cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, 
if I hesitate or waver in the support I give him. The war, 
then, must go on. We must fight it through. 

And if the war must go on, why put off longer the dec- 
laration of independence 1 That measure will strengthen 
us. It will give us character abroad. The nations will 
then treat with us, which they never can do, while we ac- 
knowledge ourselves subjects in arms against our sove- 
reign. Nay, I maintain that England herself, will sooner 
treat for peace with us on the footing of independence, 
than consent, by repealing her acts, to acknowledge that 
her whole conduct towards us has been a course of injus- 
tice and oppression. Her pride will be less wounded by 
submitting to that course of things which now predestines 
our independence, than by yielding the point in contro 
versy to her rebellious subjects. The former she would re 
c2 



76 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

gard as the result of fortune ; the latter she could feel as 
her own deep disgrace. Why then, why then, sir, do we 
not, as soon as possible, change this from a civil to a na- 
tional war % And, since we must fight it through, why not 
put ourselves in a state to enjoy all the benefits of victory, 
if we gain the victory % 

If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we shall not 
fail. The cause will raise up armies ; the cause will cre- 
ate navies. The j>eople, the people, if we are true to 
them, will carry us, and will carry themselves, gloriously 
through this struggle. I care not how fickle other people 
have been found. I know the people of these colonies ; 
and I know that resistance to British aggression is deep 
and settled in their hearts, and cannot be eradicated. Ev- 
ery colony, indeed, has expressed its willingness to follow, 
if we but take the lead. Sir, the declaration will inspire 
the people with increased courage. Instead of a long and 
bloody war for restoration of privileges, for redress of 
grievances, for chartered immunities, held under a British 
king, set before them the glorious object of entire indepen- 
dence, and it will breathe into them anew the breath of 
life. 

Read this declaration at the head of the army ; every 
sword will be drawn from its scabbard, and the solemn 
vow uttered, to maintain it, or to perish on the bed of 
honour. Publish it from the pulpit ; religion will approve 
it, and the love of religious liberty will cling round it, re- 
solved to stand or fall with it. Send it to the public halls ; 
proclaim it there ; let them hear it, who heard the first 
roar of the enemy's cannon; let them see it, who saw 
their brothers and their sons fall on the field of Bunker 
Hill, and in the streets of Lexington and Concord — and the 
very walls will cry out in its support. 

Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs; but I see 
clearly through this day's business. You and I, indeed, 
may rue it. We may not live to see the time when this de- 
claration shall be made good. We may die ; die, colonists ; 
die, slaves ; die, it may be, ignominiously, and on the scaf- 
fold. Be it so. Be it so. If it be the pleasure of Heaven 
that my country shall require the poor offering of my life, 
the victim shall be ready at the appointed hour of sacrifice, 
come when that hour may. But, while I do live, let me 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 77 

have a country, or at least the hope of a country, and that a 
free country. 

But,. whatever may be our fate, be assured that this dec- 
laration will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost 
blood; but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for 
both. Through the thick gloom of the present, I see the 
brightness of the future, as the sun in heaven. We shall 
make this a glorious, an immortal day. When we are in 
our graves, our children will honour it. They will cele- 
brate it, with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bon-fires, 
and illuminations. On its annual return they will shed 
tears, copious, gushing tears, not of subjection and slavery, 
not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of gratitude, 
and of joy. Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. 
My judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart 
is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I 
hope, in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it ; 
and I leave off as I began, that, live or die, survive or per- 
ish, I am for the declaration. It is my living sentiment, 
and, by the blessing of God, it shall be my dying senti- 
ment ; — independence now ; and independence forever ! 



LESSON XV. 

Character of Napoleon Bonaparte. — Channing. 

To rule was not enough for Bonaparte. He wanted to 
amaz'e, to dazzle, to overpower men's souls, by striking, 
bold, magnificent, and unanticipated results. To govern 
ever so absolutely would not have satisfied him, if he must 
have governed silently. He wanted to reign through won- 
der and awe, by the grandeur and terror of his name, by 
displays of power which would rivet on him every eye, and 
make him the theme of every tongue. Power was his su- 
preme object ; but a power which should be gazed at as 
well as felt, which should strike men as a prodigy, which 
should shake old thrones as an earthquake, and, by the sud- 
denness of its new creations, should awaken something of 
the submissive wonder which miraculous agency inspires. 

Such seems to us to have been the distinction or charac- 

c3 



78 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

teristic modification of his love of fame. It was a diseased 
passion for a kind of admiration, which, from the principles 
of our nature, cannot be enduring, and which demands for 
its support perpetual and more stimulating novelty. Mere 
esteem he would have scorned. Calm admiration, though 
universal and enduring, would have been insipid. He 
wanted to electrify and overwhelm. He lived for effect. 
The world was his theatre ; and he cared little what part he 
played, if he might walk the sole hero on the stage, and 
call forth bursts of applause which would silence all other 
fame. 

In war, the triumphs which he coveted were those in 
which he seemed to sweep away his foes like a whirlwind ; 
and the immense and unparalleled sacrifice of his own sol- 
diers, in the rapid marches and daring assaults to which he 
owed his victories, in no degree diminished their worth to 
the victor. In peace, he delighted to hurry through his do- 
minions ; to multiply himself by his rapid movements ; to 
gather at a glance the capacities of improvement which 
every important place possessed ; to suggest plans which 
would startle by their originality and vastness ; to project, 
in an instant, works which a life could not accomplish, and 
to leave behind the impression of a superhuman energy. 

He was characterized by nothing more strongly than by 
the spirit of self-exaggeration. The singular energy of his 
intellect and -will, through which he had mastered so many 
rivals and foes, and overcome what seemed insuperable ob- 
stacles, inspired a consciousness of being something more 
than man. His strong original tendencies to pride and self 
exaltation, fed and pampered by strange success and un- 
bounded applause, swelled into an almost insane conviction 
of superhuman greatness. In his own view, he stood apart 
from other men. He was not to be measured by the stan- 
dard of humanity. He was not to be retarded by difficul- 
ties, to which all others yielded. He was not to be sub- 
jected to laws and obligations, which all others were expect- 
ed to obey. Nature and the human will were to bend to 
his power. He was the child and favourite of fortune ; and, 
if not the lord, the chief object of destiny. 

His history shows a spirit of self-exaggeration, unrivalled 
in enlightened ages, and which reminds us of an Oriental 
king, to whom incense had been burnt from his birth as to 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 79 

«l deity. This was the chief source of his crimes. He 
wanted the sentiment of a common nature with his fellow- 
beings. He had no sympathies with his race. That feel- 
ing of brotherhood, which is developed in truly great 
souls with peculiar energy, and through which they give 
up themselves willing victims, joyful sacrifices, to the in- 
terests of mankind, was wholly unknown to him. 

His heart, amidst all its wild beatings, never had one 
throb of disinterested love. The ties which bind man to 
man he broke asunder. The proper happiness of a man, 
which consists in the victory of moral energy and social 
affection over the selfish passions, he cast away for the 
lonely joy of a despot. With powers which might have 
made him a glorious representative and minister of the 
beneficent Divinity, and with natural sensibilities which 
might have been exalted into sublime virtues, he chose to 
separate himself from his kind, — to forego their love, 
esteem, and gratitude, — that he might become their gaze, 
their fear, their wonder; and for this selfish, solitary good, 
'- arted with peace and imperishable renown. 



LESSON XVI. 
Character of Washington. — Lord Brougham. 

How grateful the relief which the friend of mankind, 
the lover of virtue, experiences, when, turning from the 
contemplation of such a character as Napoleon, his eye 
rests upon the greatest man of our own or any age ; — the 
only one upon whom an epithet so thoughtlessly lavished 
by men, to foster the crimes of their worst enemies, may 
be innocently and justly bestowed ! In Washington we 
truly behold a marvellous contrast to almost every one of 
the endowments and the vices which we have been con- 
templating ; and which are so well fitted to excite a min- 
gled admiration, and sorrow, and abhorrence. 

With none of that brilliant genius which dazzles ordi- 
nary minds ; with not even any remarkable quickness of 
apprehension ; with knowledge less than almost all persons 
in the middle ranks, and many well educated of the hum- 
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80 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

bier classes, possess ; this eminent person is presented tc 
our observation clothed in attributes as modest, as unpre- 
tending, as little calculated to strike or to astonish, as if he 
had passed unknown through some secluded region of pri- 
vate life. But he had a judgment sure and sound ; a stea- 
diness of mind which never suffered any passion, or even 
any feeling to ruffle its calm ; a strength of understanding 
which worked rather than forced its way through all ob- 
stacles — removing or avoiding rather than overleaping 
i hem. 

If profound sagacity, unshaken steadiness of purpose, 
the entire subjugation of all the passions which carry 
havoc through ordinary minds, and oftentimes lay waste 
the fairest prospects of greatness — nay, the discipline of 
those feelings which are wont to lull or to seduce genius, 
and to mar and to cloud over the aspect of virtue herself — 
joined with, or rather leading to the most absolute self-de- 
nial, the most habitual and exclusive devotion to principle 
— if these things can constitute a great character, without 
either quickness of apprehension, or resources of infor- 
mation, or inventive powers, or any brilliant quality that 
might dazzle the vulgar — then surely Washington was the 
greatest man that ever lived in this world uninspired by 
Divine wisdom, and unsustained by supernatural virtue. 

His courage, whether in battle or in council, was as per- 
fect as might be expected from this pure and steady tem- 
per of soul. A perfect just man, with a thoroughly firm 
resolution never to be misled by others, any more than to 
be by others overawed ; never to be seduced or betrayed, 
or hurried away by his own weaknesses or self-delusions, 
any more than by other men's arts ; nor ever to be dis- 
heartened by the most complicated difficulties, any more 
than to be spoilt on the giddy heights of fortune — such was 
this great man — great, pre-eminently great, whether we 
resrard him sust amino: alone the whole weight of cam- 
paigns all but desperate, or gloriously terminating a just 
warfare by his resources and his courage — presiding over 
the j airing elements of his political council, alike deaf to 
the storms of all extremes — or directing the formation of 
anew government for a great people, the first time that so 
vast an experiment had ever been tried by man — or finally 
retiring from the supreme power to which his virtue had 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 81 

raised him over the nation he had created, and whose des- 
tinies he had guided as long as his aid was required — re- 
tiring with the veneration of all parties, of all nations, of 
all mankind, in order that the rights of men might be con- 
served, and that his example never might be appealed to 
by vulgar tyrants. 

This is the consummate glory of Washington ; a trium- 
phant warrior where the most sanguine had a right to des- 
pair ; a successful ruler in all the difficulties of a course 
wholly untried ; but a warrior, whose sword only left its 
sheath when the first law of our nature commanded it to be 
drawn ; and a ruler who, having tasted of supreme pow- 
er, gently and unostentatiously desired that the cup might 
pass from him, nor would suffer more to wet his lips than 
the most solemn and sacred duty to his country and his God 
required ! 

To his latest breath did this great patriot maintain the 
noble character of a captain the patron of peace, and a 
statesman the friend of justice. Dying, he bequeathed to 
his heirs the sword which he had worn in the war for lib- 
erty, and charged them " Never to take it from the scab- 
bard but in self-defence, or in defence of their country and 
her freedom ;" and commanded them, that " when it should 
thus be drawn, they should never sheath it nor ever give 
it up, but prefer falling with it in their hands to the relin- 
quishment thereof" — words, the majesty and simple elo- 
quence of which are not surpassed in the oratory of Athens 
and Rome. 

It will be the duty of the historian and the sage in all 
ages to let no occasion pass of commemorating this illus- 
trious man ; and, until time shall be no more, will a test of 
the progress which our race has made in wisdom and in 
virtue be derived from the veneration paid to the immor- 
tal name of Washington ! 



LESSON XVII. 
Washington 1 's Monument. — anonymous. 

Few columns rose when Rome was free, 
To mark her patriots' last repose; 
c5 



82 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

When she outlived her liberty, 

The Emp'rors' mausoleums rose; 
And Trajan's shaft was reared at last, 
When freedom from the Tiber pass'd. 

"Better than Trajan," lowly lies, 
By broad Potomac's silent shore, 
Hallowing the green declivities 

With glory now and evermore. 
Art to his fame no aid hath lent — 
His country is his monument. 



LESSON XVIII. 

Corn Fields. — Mary Howitt. 

In the young merry time of spring, 
When clover 'gins to burst, 

When blue-bells nod within the wood, 
And sweet May whitens first ; 

When merle and mavis sing their fill, 

Green is the young corn on the hill. 

But when the merry spring is past, 
And summer groweth bold, 

And in the garden and the field 
A thousand flowers unfold, 

Before a green leaf yet is sere, 

The young corn shoots into the ear. 

But, then, as day and night succeed, 

And summer weareth on, 
And in the flowery garden beds 

The red rose groweth wan, 
And hollyhock and sunflower tall 
O'ertop the mossy garden-wall : — 

When on the breath of autumn breeze, 
From pastures dry and brown, 

Goes floating, like an idle thought, 
The fair, white thistle-down : 

O, then, what joy to walk at will, 

Upon that golden harvest-hill ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATiQN. 83 

What joy in dreamy ease to lie 

Amid a field new-shorn : 
And see all round, on sun-lit slopes, 

The piled-up shocks of corn, 
And send the fancy wandering o'er 
All pleasant harvest-fields of yore ! 

I feel the day; I see the field ; 

The quivering of the leaves ; 
And good old Jacob and his house 

Binding the yellow sheaves ; 
And, at this very hour, I seem 
To be with Joseph in his dream. 

I see the fields of Bethlehem, 

And reapers many a one, 
Bending unto their sickles' stroke, 

And Boaz looking on ; 
And Ruth, the Moabitess fair, 
Among the gleaners, stooping there. 

Again I see a little child, 

His mother's sole delight; 
God's living Qfift of love unto 

The kind, good Shunamite; 
To mortal pangs I see him yield, 
And the lad bear him from the field. 

The sun-bathed quiet of the hills, 

The fields of Galilee, 
That, eighteen hundred years ago, 

Were full of corn, I see ; 
And the dear Saviour take his way 
'Mid ripe ears on the Sabbath-day. 

O golden fields of bending corn, 

How beautiful they seem ! 
The reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves, 

To me are like a dream : 
The sunshine and the veiy air 
Seem of old time, and take me there! 



c6 



84 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON XIX. 
Ahou Ben Adhem. — Leigh Hunt. 

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase I) 

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace 

And saw within the moonlight of his room, 

Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, 

An angel writing in a book of gold. 

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 

And, to the presence in the room, he said, 

"What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, 

And, with a look, made of all sweet accord, 

Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord!" 

"And is mine oriel" asked Abou — "Nay, not so," 

Replied the angel. Abou spake more low, 

But cheerily still; and said — "I pray thee, then, 

Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 

The angel wrote and vanished. The next night 

It came again, with a great wakening light, 

And showed the names whom love of God had blest; 

And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest! 



LESSON XX. 

Eloquenoe and Logic. From an Eulogy on H. S. Legate, 
of South Carolina. — W. C. Preston. 

Our popular institutions demand a talent for speaking, 
and create a taste for it. Liberty and eloquence are united 
in all ages. Where the sovereign power is found in the 
public mind and the public heart, eloquence is the obvious 
approach to it. Power and honour, and all that can attract 
ardent and aspiring natures, attend it. The noblest instinct 
is to propagate the spirit, "to make our mind the mind of oth- 
er men," and wield the sceptre in the realms of passion. 
Smitten with the love, he devoted himself to the culture of 
eloquence, from his boyhood. He was by nature endowed 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 85 

with an active imagination, warm sensibilities, a vigourous 
mind, and an easy flow of speech. To these he added, as 
we have seen, all that labour could achieve ; nor was he in- 
attentive to the minuter accomplishments of the voice and 
gesture, which contribute, in their degree, to successful 
speaking, and, by the authority of the most illustrious ex- 
amples, are shewn to be worthy of attention. 

In his gesture it was a great triumph of art and persever- 
ance to overcome defects, in which he eminently succeeded. 
To improve his voice, i 1 was his practice for many years to 
task it with long and varied declamation, trying it upon 
his ear with frequent repetition, to attain the exact intona- 
tion, for he properly conceived that there is " full many a 
tone" of thought and feeling beyond the reach of words 01 
action, which are vibrated to the heart by the voice only. 
Besides these exercises, he subjected it to the more invigor- 
ating discipline of speaking in the open harbour, to a remote 
part of which he was occasionally rowed by his servant, 
where he declaimed upon the vacant air and sea, passages 
from the ancients or moderns, and sometimes whole speech- 
es from Cicero. The result was, that he brought his voice to 
great perfection, especially in its loftier tones, to which, 
when it was tasked to the utmost, may be applied the words 
of Quintillian, quicquid immensum injinitumque. 

The general characteristics of his style of speaking were 
similar to those of his writing ; developed, of course, with 
greater elevation and intenseness, as speaking admits of a 
wider range and bolder contrast, from the highest ascent in- 
to the regions of passion, to the most familiar and colloquial 
narrative. His method of constructing a speech was sys- 
tematic and exact — the argument always forcibly conceived, 
and skilfully concatenated, the occasional remarks acute 
and pregnant — and the learning and thought on the immedi- 
ate subject or collateral to it, most rich and abundant. The 
affluence of his knowledge and the quickness of his sensi- 
bility, gave him a tendency to amplitude and vehemence, 
which exposed his oratory to the charge of declamation, 
as his literary accomplishments had created a suspicion of 
his law knowledge — the same error arising from the same 
sources. 

In the art of speaking, as in all other arts, a just combina- 
tion of those qualities necessary to the end proposed, is the 



86 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

true rule of taste. Excess is always wrong. Too much 
ornament is an evil — too little, also. The one may impede 
the progress of the argument, or divert attention from it, by 
the introduction of extraneous matter — the other may ex- 
haust attention or weary by monotony. Elegance is in a 
just medium. The safer side to err on, is that of abundance 
— as profusion is better than poverty; as it is better to be 
detained by the beauties of a landscape, than by the weari- 
ness of the desert. 

It is commonly, but mistakenly, supposed, that the enfor- 
cing of truth is most successfully effected by a cold and for- 
mal logic; but the subtleties of dialectics and the forms of lo- 
gic, may play as fantastic tricks with truth, as the most potent 
magic of Fancy. The attempt to apply mathematical pre- 
cision to moral truth, is always a failure, and generally a 
dangerous one. If man, and especially masses of men, were 
purely intellectual, then cold reason would alone be influen- 
tial to convince — but our nature is most complex, and many 
of the great truths which it most concerns us to know, are 
taught us by our instincts, our sentiments, our impulses and 
our passions. 

Even in regard to the highest and holiest of all truth, to 
know which concerns us here and hereafter, we are not per- 
mitted to aj:>proach its investigation in the confidence of 
proud and erring reason, but are taught to become as little 
children, before we are worthy to receive it. It is to this 
complex nature that the speaker addresses himself, and the 
degree of power with which all the elements are evoked, is 
the criterion of the orator. His business, to be sure, is to 
convince, but more to persuade ; and most of all, to inspire 
with noble and generous passions. 

It is the cant of criticism, in all ages, to make a distinction 
between logic and eloquence, and to stigmatize the latter as 
declamation. Logic ascertains the weight of an argument, 
Eloquence gives it momentum. The difference is that be- 
tween the vis inerticB of amass of metal, and the same ball 
hurled from the cannon's mouth. Eloquence is an argu- 
ment alive and in motion — the statue of Pygmalion, inspired 
with vitality. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 87 

LESSON XXI. 
A Visit to Holy rood Palace. — Rev. George Peck, D. D. 

Our first visit this morning was to Holyrood Palace. This 
palace was commenced by James V., and in its present 
form was completed by Charles II. It is a quadrangle, 
inclosing a court ninety-four feet square, and its build- 
ings are all four stories besides the attic, with the excep- 
tion of the western side, which is only two stories. We 
were conducted through the various apartments of the pal- 
ace by an elderly lady, who seemed both obliging and intel- 
ligent. We cannot follow our notes into detailed descrip- 
tions without extending this paper further than would be 
advisable. All we shall attempt is merely to notice a few 
of the remarkable things which we here observed. The 
great gallery of one hundred and fifty-six feet in length, by 
twenty-seven and a half in width, and twenty feet high, is 
hung with the paintings, by De Witt, of a hundred and 
eleven monarchs of Scotland. The earlier ones, however, 
are considered imaginary. Some of these were defaced by 
Cromwell's soldiers after the defeat of the royalists at Fal- 
kirk, 1745. The marks of swords or bayonets are still vis- 
ible on some of these old pictures. 

We were shown the rooms and beds occupied by the 
royal refugees from France, during the revolution. But by 
far the most interesting objects which we saw in the palace 
were the rooms of Mary, Queen of Scots, and the relics 
which they contain. In the queen's bed-room is shown 
some tapestry, in a tolerable state of preservation, which 
she wrought with her own hands when a child — several 
chairs covered with crimson velvet, and her bed. The bed 
and curtains were, doubtless, originally worthy of a queen, 
but they show the influence of time upon them ; and their 
present appearance indicates, that, remaining in their posi- 
tion without being used or touched, they will at no distant 
date fall to pieces and return to dust. The furniture of the 
bed is crimson damask, bordered with green silk tassels and 
fringes, which tradition assigns to the fair hands of the 
unfortunate queen. In this apartment is a small door, 
communicating with a flight of stairs, evidently designed 



88 THE ELOCUTIONIST. 

as a secret passage between the queen's rooms and the 
abbey. 

Through this passage Darnley and his accomplices en- 
tered into the queen's rooms, and seized Rizzio, her secre- 
tary, while he was supping with the queen, in a small room 
adjoining the bed-room. From this room the miserable sec- 
retary was dragged through the bed-room into " the cham- 
ber of presence," where he was murdered — and where are 
still to be seen upon the floor, dark spots, said to be the 
stains of his blood. We will not pretend to determine the 
truth of the tradition, that these spots are the veritable stains 
occasioned by the blood of the queen's Italian favorite. 
This may perhaps be admitted without allowing anything 
miraculous or judicial in the fact. No one, we think, can 
tell why the stains made by the blood of the queen's para- 
mour should be left upon the floor for centuries, and actually 
be ineffaceable, any more than that the same should be the 
case with the blood of Darnley himself, who, however wicked, 
was as unrighteously murdered as was Rizzio. 

But here we let the matter rest — we saw the "large dark 
spots," and this is all we cared about them. The " closet," 
as it is called, where Mary and Rizzio were taking their 
supper together, when the conspirators entered, is a small 
room of, perhaps, fourteen by twelve feet, with a grate and 
fender, said to be the first articles of that kind ever used in 
Scotland ; and their rudeness almost identifies them as the 
relics of a barbarous age. 

We were shown the place of the high altar where Queen 
Mary was married. And here also is seen, through a grate, 
the royal vault, where a small parcel of bones is lying upon 
a shelf — all that is left of the royal personages who had been 
deposited there ; the place, it is said, having been rifled dur- 
ing the wars of Cromwell, for the purpose of converting the 
leaden coffins into balls. So all that remains of Scotch 
royalty, here in the royal vault, is a heap of small bones 
which a man can take up with one hand ! 

The palace is now undergoing repairs, by order of the 
queen, which furnished one of our party with an opportu- 
nity of bringing away a piece of the old palace that had 
been split from a window frame, which was subsequently 
divided among the company. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 89 

LESSON XXII. * 
The Complaining Spirit. — Rev. C. F. Deems. 

The folly of complaining is evident from its utter inutility. 
If complaints could rebuild the house consumed by fire ; if 
complaints could gather again the wealth once scattered ; 
if complaints could infuse rapidity into the sluggish blood, 
and retouch the pale and wasted cheek with the rich hue 
of health ; if complaints could reach the ear of death, and 
recall the loved lost ones, and give their lips the eloquence 
of love, and their eyes the glance of affection that once 
thrilled us — then might a man complain, and his neighbors 
might not call it foolish. 

But it injures one's character to indulge in complaints. 
Without making his condition better, it destroys that gentle- 
ness of spirit which is so soothing in affliction, and deprives 
a man of the fortitude with which the ills of life should be 
borne. It aggravates the wounds of the spirit. It exagge- 
rates the minor evils of existence. When grown into a habit 
it makes a man a perpetual self-tormentor, and a source of 
continual vexation to his family and friends. And this 
wretched habit, growing with a man's years, renders him 
not only unhappy in himself, and disagreeable to others, but 
it makes him a worse man by exciting his own evil passions, 
and an injurious man by irritating the passions of others. 

Its great sinfulness is seen further in the fact, that it has 
its rise in the exceeding selfishness of the heart. Every- 
thing must go as the man wishes or he is full of bitter com- 
plaints. The millions of the world's population must be 
overlooked, and the world's governor must set himself to 
study the comfort of the complainer. The seasons must be 
adapted to his convenience ; the tide in the affairs of men 
must be turned into the channel which bears him on to for- 
tune, no matter how many thousands are ruined by the 
change ; and the gates of life and death must be opened and 
shut at his pleasure ; or he complains of fortune — that is, 
of the providence of God. 



90 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON XXIII. 
To One Departed. — T. K. Hervey. 

I know thou art gone to the home of thy rest, 

Then why should my soul be so sad ! 
I know thou art gone where the weary are blest. 

And the mourner looks up and is glad; 
Where love has put off, in the land of its birth, 

The stains it had gathered in this, 
And Hope, the sweet singer that gladden'd the earth, 

Lies asleep on the bosom of Bliss. 

I know thou art gone where thy forehead is starr'd 

With the beauty that dwelt in thy soul — 
Where the light of thy loveliness cannot be marr'd, 

Nor thy heart be flung back from its goal ; 
I know thou hast sipp'd of the Lethe that flows 

Through a land where they do not forget — 
That sheds over memory only repose, 

And takes from it only regret. 

This eye must be dark that so long has been dirm \'d 

Ere again it may gaze upon thine; 
But my heart has revealings of thee and thy home 

In" many a token and sign : 
I never look up with a wish to the sky, 

But a light like thy beauty is there : 
And I hear a low murmur, like thine in reply, 

When I pour out my spirit in prayer. 

In th,y far away dwelling, wherever it be, 

I believe thou hast visions of mine ; 
And thy love that made all things as music to me 

I have not yet learned to resign : 
In the hush of the night, on the waste of the sea 

Or alone with the breeze on the hill, 
I have ever a presence that whisners of thee, 

And my spirit lies down and is still. 

And though, like a mourner that sits by % *op*1» 
I am wrapp'd in a mantle of care. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 9l 

Yet the grief of my spirit — O, call it not gloom ! — 

Is not the black grief of despair : 
By sorrow reveal'd, as the stars are by night, 

Far off, a bright vision appears ; 
And Hope, like the rainbow, a creature of light, 

Is bom, like the rainbow, in tears. 



LESSON XXIV. 
A Christian viewing Death. — Dewey. 

I nAVE seen one die : she was beautiful ; and beautiful 
were the ministries of life that were given her to fulfil. 
Angelic loveliness enrobed her ; and a grace as if it were 
caught from heaven, breathed in every tone, hallowed ev- 
ery affection, shone in every action — invested as a halo her 
whole existence, and made it a light and blessing, a charm 
and a vision of gladness, to all around her : but she died ! 
Friendship, and love, and parental fondness, and infant 
weakness, stretched out their hand to save her ; but they 
could not save her : and she died ! What ! did all that 
loveliness die ! Is there no land of the blessed and the 
lovely ones, for such tolive in ! Forbid it reason, religion ! 
bereaved affection, and undying love ! forbid the thought ! 
I have seen one die — in the maturity of every power, in 
the earthly perfection of every faculty ; when many temp- 
tations had been overcome, and many hard lessons had been 
learned ; when many experiments had made virtue easy, 
and had given a facility to action, and a success to endea- 
vour ; . when wisdom had been learnt from many mistakes, 
and a skill had been laboriously acquired in the use of ma- 
ny powers ; and the being I looked upon had just compass- 
ed that most useful, most practical of all knowledge, how to 
live, and to act well and wisely ; yet I have seen such an 
one die ! 

Was all this treasure gained only to be lost % Were all 
these faculties trained, only to be thrown into utter disuse 1 
Was this instrument — the intelligent soul, the noblest in 
the universe — was it so laboriously fashioned, and by the 



92 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

most varied and expensive apparatus, that, on the very mo- 
ment of being finished, it should be cast away forever ? No, 
the dead, as we call them, do not so die. They carry their 
thoughts to another and a nobler existence. They teach us, 
and especially by all the strange and seemingly untoward 
circumstances of their departure from this life, that they, 
and we, shall live forever. They open the future world, 
then, to our faith. 

Oh ! death ! — dark hour to hopeless unbelief ! hour to 
which, in that creed of despair, no hour shall succeed ! be- 
ing's last hour ! to whose appalling darkness, even the sha- 
dows of an avenging retribution, were brightness and re- 
lief — death ! what art thou to the Christian's assurance 1 
Great hour ! answer to life's prayer — great hour that shall 
break asunder the bond of life's mystery : hour of release 
from life's burden — hour of reunion with the loved and 
lost — what mighty hopes hasten to their fulfilment in thee ! 
What longings, what aspirations — breathed in the still 
night-, beneath the silent stars — what dread emotions of cu- 
riosity — what deep meditations of joy — what hallowed im- 
possibilities shadowing forth realities to the soul, all verge to 
their consummation in thee ! Oh ! death ! the Christian's 
death ! What art thou, but a gate of life, a portal of heaven, 
the threshold of eternity ! 



LESSON XXV. 

In favour of acknowledging the Independence of Greece. — 
Henry Clay. 

The resolution proposes a provision of the means to de- 
fray the expense of deputing a commissioner or agent to 
Greece, whenever the President, who knows, or ought to 
know, the disposition of all the European powers, Turkish 
or Christian, shall deem it proper. The amendment goes 
to withhold any appropriation to that object, but to make a 
public declaration of our sympathy with the Greeks, arid of 
our good wishes for the success of their cause. And how 



HECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 93 

has this simple, unpretending, unambitious — this harmless 
proposition — been treated in debate % 

It has been argued, as if it offered aid to the Greeks ; as 
if it proposed the recognition of the independence of their 
government ; as a measure of unjustifiable interference in 
the internal affairs of a foreign state, and, finally, as war. 
And those, who thus argue the question, whilst they abso- 
lutely surrender themselves to the illusions of their own fer- 
vid imaginations, and depict, in glowing terms, the mon- 
strous and alarming consequences, which are to spring out 
of a proposition so simple, impute to us, who are its humble 
advocates, Quixotism — Quixotism ! 

Whilst they are taking the most extravagant and bound- 
less range, and arguing anything and everything but the 
question before the Committee, they accuse us of enthusi- 
asm, of giving the reins to excited feeling, of being trans- 
ported by our imaginations. No, sir ; the resolution is no 
proposition for aid — nor for recognition, nor for interfer- 
ence, nor for war. 

Sir, it is not for Greece alone, that I desire to see this 
measure adopted. It will give to her but little support, 
and that purely of a moral kind. It is principally for Amer- 
ica, for the credit and character of our common country, for 
our own unsullied name, that I hope to see it pass. What 
appearance, Mr. Chairman, on the page of history, would 
a record like this exhibit : — 

" In the month of January, in the year of our Lord and 
Saviour, 1824, while all European Christendom beheld, 
with cold and unfeeling indifference, the unexampled 
wrongs and inexpressible misery of Christian Greece, a 
proposition was made in the Congress of the United States, 
almost the sole, the last, the greatest, depository of hu- 
man hope and human freedom — the representatives of a 
gallant nation, coiitaining a million of freemen ready to fly 
to arms — while the people of that nation were spontane- 
ously expressing its deep-toned feeling, and the whole 
continent, by one simultaneous emotion, was rising, and 
solemnly and anxiously supplicating and invoking 
high He*aven to succour Greece and to invigorate her 
arms, in her glorious cause ; while temples and senate 
houses were alike resounding with one burst of generous 
and holy sympathy ; — in that year of our Lord and Sa- 



94? NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

viour — the Saviour of Greece and of us — a proposition 
was offered in the American Congress to send a messen- 
ger to Greece, to inquire into her state and condition, 
with a kind expression of our good wishes and our sympa- 
thies : — and it was rejected /" 

Go home, if you can — go home, if you dare — to your 
constituents, and tell them that you voted it down ; meet, 
if you can, the appalling countenances of those who sent 
you here, and tell them that you shrank from the declara- 
tion of your own sentiments ; — that you cannot tell how, 
but that some unknown dread, some indescribable appre- 
hension, some indefinable danger, drove you from your 
purpose ; — that the spectres of scimetars, and crowns, and 
crescents, gleamed before you, and alarmed you ; — and, 
that you suppressed all the noble feelings prompted by re- 
ligion, by liberty, by national independence, and by hu- 
manity. 

I cannot bring myself to believe, that such will be the 
feeling of a majority of the Committee. But, for myself, 
though every friend of the cause should desert it, and I be 
left to stand alone with the mover of this resolution, I 
would give to it the sanction of my unqualified approba- 
tion. 



LESSON XXVI. 

The Statue of the Bclviderc AjwVo. — Rev. H. H. Milman. 

Heard ye the arrow hurtle in the sky 1 

Heard ye the dragon monster's deathful cry ? 

In settled majesty of calm disdain, 

Proud of his might, yet scornful of the slain, 

The heav'nly Archer stands* — no human birth, 

No perishable denizen of earth ; 

Youth blooms immortal in his beardless face, 

A god in strength, with more than godlike grace; 

All, all divine — no struggling muscle glows, — 

Through heaving vein no mantling life-blood flows, 

But, animate with deity alone, 

In deathless glory lives the breathing stone. 

*The Apollo is in the act of watching the arrow, with which he 
slew the serpent Python. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 95 

Bright kindling with a conqueror's stern delight, 
His keen eye tracks the arrow's fateful flight; 
Burns his indignant cheek with vengeful fire, 
And his lip quivers with insulting ire : 
Firm fix'dhis tread, yet light, as when on high 
He walks th' impalpable and pathless sky : 
The rich luxuriance of his hair, confined 
In graceful ringlets, wantons on the wind, 
That lifts in sport his mantle's drooping fold, 
Proud to display that form of faultless mould. 

Mighty Ephesian ! * with an eagle's flight 
Thy proud soul mounted through the fields of light, 
View'd the bright conclave of Heaven's blest abode, 
And the cold marble leapt to life a god : 
Contagious awe through breathless myriads ran, 
And nations bow'd before the work of man. 
For mild he seem'd, as in Elysian bowers, 
Wasting in careless ease the joyous hours; 
Haughty, as bards have sung, with princely sway 
Curbing the fierce, flame-breathing steeds of day; 
Beauteous as vision seen in dreamy sleep 
By holy maid on Delphi's haunted steep, 
'Mid the dim twilight of the laurel grove, 
Too fair to worship, too divine to love. 

Yet, on that form, in wild, delirious trance, 
With more than rev'reuce gazed the Maid of France; 
Day after day the love-sick dreamer stood 
With him alone, nor thought it solitude ! 
To cherish grief, her last, her dearest care, 
Her one fond hope — to perish of despair! 
Oft as the shifting light her sight beguiled, 
Blushing she shrank, and thought the marble smileds 
Oft breathless list'ning heard, or seem'd to hear, 
A voice of music melt upon her ear. 
Slowly she waned, and cold and senseless grown, 
Closed her dim eyes, herself benumb'd to stone. 
Yet love in death a sickly strength supplied : 
Once more she gazed, then feebly smiled, and died.t 

* Agasias of Ephesus. 

t The foregoing fact is related in the work of M. Pinel on Insanity. 



^O NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON XXVII. 
Tn Favour of iJie American Revolution. — Josiah Quincy. 

Be not deceived, my countrymen. Believe not these 
venal hirelings, when they would cajole you by their sub- 
tleties into submission, or frighten you by their vapourings 
into compliance. When they strive to flatter you by the 
terms " moderation and prudence," tell them that calm- 
ness and deliberation are to guide the judgment ; courage 
and intrepidity command the action. When they endeav- 
our to make us " perceive our inability to oppose our 
mother country," let us boldly answer: — In defence of 
our civil and religous rights, we dare oppose the world : 
wdth the God of armies on our side ! even the God who 
fought our fathers' battles ! we fear not the hour of trial, 
though the hosts of our enemies should cover the field like 
locusts. If this be enthusiasm, we will live and die en- 
thusiasts. 

Blandishments will not fascinate us, nor will threats of 
a " halter" intimidate. For, under God, we are determin- 
ed, that wheresoever, whensoever, or howsoever we shall 
be called to make our exit, we will die freemen. Well 
do we know that all the regalia of this world cannot dig- 
nify the death of a villain, nor diminish the ignominy with 
which a slave shall quit existence. Neither can it taint 
the unblemished honour of a son of freedom, though he 
should make his departure on the already prepared gibbet, 
or be dragged to the newly-erected scaffold for execution. 
With the plaudits of his country, and what is more, the 
plaudits of his conscience, he will go off the stage. The 
history of his life his children shall venerate. The virtues 
of their sire shall excite their emulation. 

Who has the front to ask, Wherefore do you complain % 
Who dares assert, that every thing worth living for is not 
lost, when a nation is enslaved % Are not pensioners, sti- 
pendiaries, and salary-men, unknown before, hourly mul- 
tiplying upon us, to riot in the spoils of miserable Amer- 
ica % Does not every eastern gale waft us some new in- 
sect, even of that devouring kind, which eat up every 
green thing % Is not the bread taken out of the children's 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 97 

mouths and given unto the dogs ? Are not our estates giv- 
en to corrupt sycophants, without a design, or even a pre- 
tence, of soliciting our assent ; and our lives put into the 
hands of those whose tender mercies are cruelties 1 Has 
not an authority in a distant land, in the most public man 
ner, proclaimed the right of disposing of the ail of Amer- 
icans ] 

In short, what have we to lose ] What have we to fear ? 
Are not our distresses more than we can bear ] And to 
finish all, are not our cities, in a time of profound peace, 
filled with standing armies, to preclude from us that last 
solace of the wretched — to open their mouths in com- 
plaint, and send forth their cries in bitterness of heart 1 

But is there no ray of hope 1 Is not Great Britain in- 
habited by the children of those, renowned barons, who 
waded through seas of crimson gore to establish their lib- 
erty'? and will they not allow us, their fellow men, to en- 
ioy that freedom which we claim from nature, which is 
confirmed by our constitution, and which they pretend so 
highly to value] Were a tyrant to conquer us, the chains 
of slavery, when opposition should become useless, might 
be supportable ; but to be shackled by Englishmen, — by 
our equals, — is not to be borne. 

By the sweat of our brow we earn the little we possess ; 
from nature we derive the common rights of man; and by 
charter we claim the liberties of Britons. Shall we, dare 
we, pusillanimbusly surrender our birthright 1 Is the ob- 
ligation to our fathers discharged ] Is the debt we owe 
posterity paid ] Answer me, thou coward, who hidest 
thyself in the hour of trial ! If there is no reward in this 
life, no prize of glory in the next, capable of animating 
thy dastard soul, think and tremble, thou miscreant ! at 
the whips and stripes thy master shall lash thee with on 
earth, — and the flames and scorpions thy second master 
shall torment thee with hereafter ! 

Oh, my countrymen ! what will our children say, when 
they read the history of these times, should they find that 
we tamely gave away, without one noble struggle, the 
most invaluable of earthly blessings ! As they drag the 
galling chain, will they not execrate us % If we have any 
respect for things sacred, any regard to the dearest trea- 
sure on earth ; if we have one tender sentiment for posteri- 



98 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

ty ; if we would not be despised by the whole -world ;— - 
let us, in the most open, solemn manner, and with deter- 
mined fortitude, swear — We will die, if we cannot live 
freemen. 

While we have equity, justice, and God on our side, 
tyranny, spiritual or temporal, shall never ride triumph- 
ant in a land inhabited by Englishmen. 



LESSON XXVIII. 
Dignity of Human Nature. — Dewey. 

Your neighbour is above you in the world's esteem, per- 
haps — above you, it may be, in faGt : but what are you ? 
You are a man ; you are a rational and religious being • 
you are an immortal creature. Yes, a glad and glorious 
existence is yours ; your eye is opened to the lovely and 
majestic vision of nature ; the paths of knowledge are 
around you, and they stretch onward to eternity : and most 
of all, the glory of the infinite God, the all-perfect, all- 
wise, and all-beautiful, is unfolded to you. What now, 
compared with this, is a little worldly renown 1 The trea- 
sures of infinity and of eternity are heaped upon thy labour- 
ing thought ; can that thought be deeply occupied with 
questions of mortal prudence ] It is as if a man were en- 
riched by some generous benefactor, almost beyond mea- 
sure, and should find nothing else to do, but vex himself 
and complain, because another man was made a few thou- 
sands richer. 

Where, unreasonable complainer ! dost thou stand, and 
what is around thee ] The world spreads before thee its 
sublime mysteries, where the thoughts of sages lose them- 
selves in wonder ; the ocean lifts up its eternal anthems to 
thine ear ; the golden sun lights thy path ; the wide hea- 
vens stretch themselves above thee, and worlds rise upon 
worlds, and systems beyond systems, to infinity; and dost 
thou stand in the centre of all this, to complain of thy lot 
and place 1 Pupil of that infinite teaching ! minister at 
Nature's gre at altar! child of heaven's favour! ennobled 
being ! redeemed creature ! must thou pine in sullen and 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 99 

envious melancholy, amidst the plenitude of the whole 
creation 1 

" But thy neighbor is above thee," thou sayest. What 
then % What is that to thee 1 What, though the shout of 
millions rose around him ] What is that, to the million- 
voiced nature that God has given thee ? That shout dies 
away into the vacant air ; it is not his : but thy nature — 
thy favoured, sacred and glorious nature— is thine. It is 
the reality — to which praise is but a fleeting breath. Thou 
canst meditate the things, which applause but celebrates. 
In that thou art a man, thou art infinitely exalted above 
what any man can be, in that he is praised. I would rath- 
er be the humblest man in the world, than barely be thought 
greater than the greatest. The beggar is greater, as a 
man, than is the man, merely as a king. Not one of the 
crowds that listened to the eloquence of Demosthenes and 
Cicero— not one who has bent with admiration over the 
Images of Homer and Shakspeare — not one who followed 
in the train of Caesar or of Napoleon, would part with the 
humblest power of thought, for all the fame that is echoing 
over the world and through the ages. 



LESSON XXIX. 

An Exhortation to the Study of Eloquence. — Cicero. 

I cannot conceive any thing more excellent, than to be 
able, by language, to captivate the affections, to charm the 
understanding, and to impel or restrain the will of whole 
assemblies, at pleasure. Among every free people, espe- 
cially in peaceful, settled governments, this single art has 
always eminently flourished, and always exercised the 
greatest sway. For what can be more surprising, than 
that, amidst an infinite multitude, one man should appear, 
who shall be the only, or almost the only man capable of 
doing what Nature has put in every man's power ] Or, 
can any thing impart such exquisite pleasure to the ear, 
and to the intellect, as a speech, in which the wisdom and 
dignity of the sentiments, are heightened by the utmost 
force and beauty of expression ! 



100 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Is there any thing so commanding, so grand, as that 
the eloquence of one man should direct the inclinations of 
the people, the consciences of judges, and the majesty of 
senates % Nay, farther, can aught be esteemed so great, 
so generous, so public-spirited, as to assist the suppliant, 
to rear the prostrate, to communicate happiness, to avert 
danger, and to save a fellow-citizen from exile 1 Can any 
thing be so necessary, as to keep those arms always in 
readiness, with which you may defend yourself, attack the 
profligate, and redress your own, or your country's 
wrongs ? 

But, let us consider this accomplishment as detached 
from public business, and from its wonderful efficacy in 
popular assemblies, at the bar, and in the senate ; can any 
thing be more agreeable, or more endearing in private life, 
than elegant language 1 For the great characteristic of 
our nature, and what eminently distinguishes us from 
brutes, is the faculty of social conversation, the power of 
expressing oar thoughts and sentiments by words. To 
excel mankind, therefore, in the exercise of that very tal- 
ent, which gives them the preference to the brute creation, 
is what every body must not only admire, but look upon as 
the just object of the most indefatigable pursuit. 

And now, to mention the chief point of all, what other 
power could have been of sufficient efficacy to bring to- 
gether the vagrant individuals of the human race ; to tame 
their savage manners ; to reconcile them to social life ; 
and, after cities were founded, to mark out laws, forms, 
and constitutions, for their government 1 — Let me, in a few 
words, sum up this almost boundless subject. I lay it 
down as a maxim, that upon the wisdom and abilities of 
an accomplished orator, not only his own dignity, but the 
welfare of vast numbers of individuals, and even of the 
whole state, must greatly depend. Therefore, young gen- 
tlemen, go on : ply the study in which you are engaged, 
for your own honour, the advantage of your friends, and the 
service of your country. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION, 101 

LESSON XXX. 
The Muse's Hopes for America. — Bishop Berkeley. 

The Muse, disgusted at an age and clime 

Ban-en of every glorious theme, 
In distant lands now waits a better time, 

Producing subjects worthy fame. 

In happy climes, where from the genial sua 

And virgin earth such scenes ensue, 
The force of art by nature seems outdone, 

And fancied beauties by the true. 

In happy climes, the seat of innocence, 
Where nature guides and virtue rules ; 

Where men shall not impose for truth and sense, 
The pedantry of courts and schools : 

There shall be sung another golden age, 

The rise of empires, and of arts 
The good and great, inspiring epic rage, 

The wisest heads and noblest hearts : — 

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay, — 
Such as she bred when fresh and young, 

When heavenly flame did animate her clay, 
By future poets shall be sung. 

Westward the course of empire takes its way ; 

The four first acts already past, 
A fifth shall close the drama with the day — 

Time's noblest offspring is the last. 



LESSON XXXI. 

Cleopatra 'Embarking on the Cydnus. — T. K. Hervey. 

Flutes in the sunny air, 

And harps in the porphyry halls, 
And a low, deep hum, like a people's prayer, 
With its heart-breathed swells and falls ! 



102 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

And an echo like the city's call, 

Flung back to the sounding shores ! 
And the river's ripple, heard through all, 

As it plays with the silver oars ! 
The sky is a gleam of gold ! 

And the amber breezes float 
Like thoughts to be dream'd of, but never told, 

Around the dancing boat ! 

She has stepped on the burning sand ! 

And the thousand tongues are mute ! 
And the Syrian strikes, with a trembling hand, 

The strings of his golden lute ! 
And the Ethiop's heart throbs loud and high, 

Beneath his white symar, 
And the Lybian kneels as he meets her eye, 

Like the flash of an eastern star ! 
The gales may not be heard, 

Yet the silken streamers quiver, 
And the vessel shoots, like a bright-plumed bird, 

Away — down the golden river. 

Away by the lofty mount ! 

And away by the lonely shore ! 
And away by the gushing of many a fount 

Where fountains gush no more ! 
Oh ! for some warning vision there, 

Some voice that should have spoken 
Of climes to be laid waste and bare, 

And glad, young spirits broken ! 
Of waters dried away, 

And of hope and beauty blasted ! 
That scenes so fair and hearts so gay, 

Should be so early wasted ! 



LESSON XXXII. 

The Lumberer's Story — A Forest on Fire. — J. J. Audubon. 

" We were sound asleep one night, in a cabin about a 
hundred miles from this, when about two hours before 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 103 

day, the snorting of horses and lowing of the cattle which 
I had ranging in the woods, suddenly awakened us. I took 
yon riile and went to the door to see what beast had caus- 
ed the hubbub, when I was struck by the glare of light re- 
flected on all the trees before me, as far as I could see 
through the woods. My horses were leaping about, snort- 
ing loudly, and the cattle ran among them with their tails 
raised straight over their backs. On going to the back of 
the house I plainly heard the crackling made by the burn- 
ing brushwood, and saw the flames coming toward us in a 
far extended line. I ran to the house, told my wife to 
dress herself and the child as quickly as possible, and take 
the little money we had, while I managed to catch and sad- 
dle two of the best horses. All this was done in a very 
short time, for I guessed that every moment was precious 
to us. 

" We then mounted, and made off from the fire. My 
wife, who is an excellent rider, stuck close to me ; my 
daughter, who was then a small child, I took in one arm. 
When making off, as I said, I looked back and saw that the 
frightful blaze was close upon us, and had already laid 
hold of the house, By good luck there was a horn attach- 
ed to my hunting clothes, and I blew it, to bring after us, if 
possible, the remainder of my live stock, as well as the 
dogs. The cattle followed for a while ; but, before an 
hour had elapsed, they all ran as if mad through the woods, 
and that, sir, was the last of them. My dogs, too, although 
at all other times extremely tractable, ran after the deer 
that in bodies sprang before us, as if fully aware of the 
death that was so rapidly approaching. 

" We heard blasts from the horns of our neighbours, as 
we proceeded, and knew that they were in the same predi- 
cament. Intent on striving to the utmost to preserve our 
lives, I thought of a large lake, some miles off, which might 
possibly check the flames ; and, urging my wife to whip 
up her horse, we set off at full speed, making the best way 
we could over the fallen trees and the brush heaps, which 
lay like so many articles placed on purpose to keep up the 
terrific fires that advanced with a broad front upon us. 

" By this time we could feel the heat ; and we were 
afraid that our horses would drop every instant. A singu- 
lar kind of breeze was passing over our heads, and the 



104 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



glare of the atmosphere shone over the daylight. I was 
sensible of a slight faintness, and my wife looked pale. 
The heat had produced such a flush in the child's face, that, 
when she turned toward either of us, our grief and perplex- 
ity were greatly increased. Ten miles, you know, are 
soon gone over on swift horses ; but, notwithstanding this 
when we reached the borders of the lake, covered with 
sweat and quite exhausted, our hearts failed us. The heat 
of the smoke was insufferable, and sheets of blazing fire 
flew over us in a manner beyond belief. We reached the 
shore, however, coasted the lake for a while, and got round 
to the lee side. There we gave up our horses, which we 
never saw again. Down among the rushes we plungedby 
the edge of the water, and laid ourselves flat, to wait the 
chance of escaping from being burned or devoured. The 
water refreshed us, and we enjoyed the coolness. 

" On went the fire, rushing and crashing through the 
woods. Such a sight may we never see ! The heavens 
themselves, I thought, were frightened ; for all above us 
was a red glare, mixed with clouds and smoke, rolling and 
sweeping away. Our bodies were cool enough, but our 
heads were scorching, and the child, who now seemed to 
understand the matter, cried so as nearly to break our 
hearts. 

'"The day passed on, and we became hungry. Many 
wild beasts came plunging into the water beside us, and 
others swam across to our side and stood still. Although 
faint and weary, I managed to shoot a porcupine, and we 
all tasted its flesh. The night passed I cannot tell you 
how. Smouldering fires covered the ground, and the trees 
stood like pillars of fire, or fell across each other. The 
stifling and sickening smoke still rushed over us, and the 
burnt cinders and ashes fell thick about us. How we got 
through that night I really cannot tell, for about some of it 
I remember nothing." 

Here the lumberer paused and took breath. The recital 
of his adventure seemed to have exhausted him. His wife 
proposed that we should have a bowl of milk, and the 
daughter having handed it to us, we each took a draught. 

" Now," said he, " I will proceed. Toward morning, 
although the heat did not abate, the smoke became less, 
and blasts of fresh air sometimes made their way to us. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 105 

When morning came, all was calm, but a dismal smoke 
still filled the air, and the smell seemed worse than ever. 
We were now cool enough, and shivered as if in an ague 
fit ; so we removed from the water, and went up to a burn- 
ing log, where we warmed ourselves. What was to be- 
come of us I did not know. My wife hugged the child to 
her breast, and wept bitterly ; but God had preserved us 
through the worst of the danger, and the flames had gone 
past, so I thought it would be both ungrateful to Him, and 
unmanly, to-despair now. Hunger once more pressed up- 
on us, but this was soon remedied. Several deer were 
still standing in the water, up to the head, and I shot one 
of them. Some of its flesh was soon roasted ; and, after 
eating it, we felt wonderfully strengthened. 

" By this time the blaze of the fire was beyond our sight, 
although the ground was still burning in many places, and 
it was dangerous to go among the burnt trees. After rest- 
ing awhile, and trimming ourselves, we prepared to com- 
mence our march. Taking up the child, I led the way 
over the hot ground and rocks ; and, after two weary days 
and nights, during which we shifted in the best manner we 
could, we at last reached the hard woods, which had been 
free from the fire. Soon after, we came to a house, where 
we were kindly treated for a while. Since then, sir, I 
have worked hard and constantly as a lumberer ; but, 
thanks to God, we are safe, sound, and happy!" 



LESSON XXXIII. 

The Heavenly Bodies. — Chalmers. 

It is truly a most Christian exercise to extract a senti- 
ment of piety from the works and the appearances of na- 
ture. It has the authority of the Sacred Writers upon its 
side, and even our Saviour himself gives it the weight and 
the solemnity of his example. " Behold the lilies of the 
field : they toil not, neither do they spin ; yet your heaven- 
ly father careth for them." He expatiates on the beauty 
of a single flower, and draws from it the delightful argu- 
ment of confidence in God. He gives us to see that taste 



106 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

may be combined with piety, and that the same heart rnaj 
be occupied with all that is serious in the contemplation oi 
religion, and be at the same time alive to the charms and the 
loveliness of nature. 

The Psalmist takes a still loftier flight. He leaves the 
world, and lifts his imagination to that mighty expanse 
which spreads above it and around it. He wings his way 
through space, and wanders in thought over its immeasur- 
able regions. Instead of a dark and unpeopled solitude, he 
sees it crowned with splendour, and filled with the energy 
of the Divine presence. Creation rises in its immensity be- 
fore him, and the world, with all which it inherits, shrinks 
into littleness at a contemplation so vast and so overpower- 
ing. He wonders that he is not overlooked amid the gran- 
deur and the variety which are on every side of him ; and 
passing upward from the majesty of nature to the majesty 
of nature's Architect, he exclaims, "What is man, that 
thou art mindful of him ; or the son of man, that thou 
shouldst deitm to visit him V 

o 

It is not for us to say, whether inspiration revealed to the 
Psalmist the wonders of the modern astronomy. But even 
though the mind be a perfect stranger to the science of 
these enlightened times, the heavens present a great and 
elevating spectacle, an immense concave reposing upon the 
circular boundary of the world, and the innumerable lights 
which are suspended from on high, moving with solemn re- 
gularity along its surface. It seems to have been at night 
that the piety of the Psalmist was awakened by this con- 
templation, when the moon and the stars were visible, and 
not when the sun had risen in his strength, and thrown a 
splendour around him, which bore down and eclipsed all 
the lesser glories of the firmament. 

And there is much in the scenery of a nocturnal sky, to 
lift the soul to pious contemplation. That moon, and these 
stars, what are they 1 They are detached from the world, 
and they lift you above it. You feel withdrawn from the 
earth, and rise in lofty abstraction above this little theatre 
of human passions and human anxieties. The mind aban- 
dons itself to reverie, and is transferred, in the ecstacy of 
its thoughts, to distant and unexplored regions. It see3 
nature in the simplicity of her great elements, and it sees 
the God of nature invested with the high attributes of wis- 
dom and majesty. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 107 

But what can these lights be I The curiosity of the hu- 
man mind is insatiable, and the mechanism of these won- 
derful heavens, has, in all ages, been its subject and its em- 
ployment. It has been reserved for these latter times, to 
resolve this great and interesting question. The sublimest 
powers of philosophy have been called to the exercise, and 
astronomy may now be looked upon as the most certain and 
best established of the sciences. 

We all know that every visible object appears less in 
magnitude as it recedes from the eye. The lofty vessel, as 
it retires from the coast, shrinks into littleness, and at last 
appears in the form of a small speck on the verge of the ho- 
rizon. The eagle, with its expanded wings, is a noble ob- 
ject ; but when it takes its flight into the upper regions of 
the air, it becomes less to the eye, and is seen like a dark 
spot upon the vault of heaven. The same is true of all 
magnitude. The heavenly bodies appear small to the eye 
of an inhabitant of this earth, only from the immensity of 
their distance. When we talk of hundreds of millions of 
miles, it is not to be listened to as incredible. For remem- 
ber, that we are talking of those bodies which are scattered 
over the immensity of space, and that space knows no ter- 
mination. 

The conception is great and difficult, but the truth is un- 
questionable. By a process of measurement which it is un- 
necessary at present to explain, we have ascertained, first 
the distance, and then the magnitude, of some of those bo- 
dies which roll in the firmament : that the sun which pre- 
sents itself to the eye under so diminutive a form, is really 
a globe, exceeding, by many thousands of times, the di- 
mensions of the earth which we inhabit ; that the moon 
itself has the magnitude of a world ; and that even a few of 
those stars, which appear like so many lucid points to the 
unassisted eye of the observer, expand into large circles up- 
on the application of the telescope, and are some of them 
much larger than the ball which we tread upon, and to 
which we proudly apply the denomination of the universe. 

Now, what is the fair and obvious presumption 1 The 
world in which we live, is a round ball of a determined 
magnitude, and occupies its own place in the firmament. 
But when we explore the unlimited tracts of that space, 
which is every where around us, we meet with other balls 



108 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



of equal or superior magnitude, and from which our earth 
would be either invisible, or appear as small as any of those 
twinkling stars which are seen on the canopy of heaven. 



LESSON XXXIV. 
The Same Subject continued. — Chalmers. 

"Why then suppose that this little spot, little at least in 
the immensity which surrounds it, should be the exclusive 
abode of life and of intelligence ? What reason to think 
that those mightier globes which roll in other parts of cre- 
ation, and which we have discovered to be worlds in mag- 
nitude, are not also worlds in use and in dignity ] Why 
should we think that the great Architect of Nature, su- 
preme in wisdom as he is in power, would call these stately 
mansions into existence, and leave them unoccupied 1 
When we cast our eye over the broad sea, and look at the 
country on the other side, we see nothing but the blue land 
stretching obscurely over the distant horizon. We are too 
far away to perceive the richness of its scenery, or to hear 
the sound of its population. 

Why not extend this principle to the still more distant 
parts of the universe ] What though, from this remote 
point of observation, we can see nothing but the naked 
roundness of yon planetary orbs 1 are we therefore to 
say, that they are so many vast and unpeopled solitudes ; 
that desolation reigns in every part of the universe but 
ours ; that the whole energy of the divine attributes is ex- 
pended on one insignificant corner of these mighty works ; 
and that to this earth alone belong the bloom of vegeta- 
tion, or the blessedness of life, or the dignity of rational 
and immortal existence % 

But this is not all. We have something more than the 
mere magnitude of the planets, to allege in favour of the 
idea that they are inhabited. We know that this earth 
turns round upon itself; and we observe that all those ce- 
lestial bodies which are accessible to such an observation, 
have the same movement. We know that the earth per- 
forms a yearly revolution round the sun ; and we can dc- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 109 

tect, in all the planets which compose our system, a revo- 
lution of the same kind, and under the same circumstan- 
ces. They have the same succession of day and night. 
They have the same agreeable vicissitude of the seasons. 
To them light and darkness succeed each other ; and the 
gaiety of summer is followed by the dreariness of winter. 
To each of them the heavens present as varied and mag- 
nificent a spectacle : and this earth, the encompassing of 
which would require the labour of years from one of its 
puny inhabitants, is but one of the lesser lights which 
sparkle in their firmament. 

To them, as well as to us, has God divided the light 
from the darkness, and he has called the light day, and the 
darkness he has called night. He has said, let there be 
lights in the firmament of their heaven, to divide the day 
from the night ; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, 
and for days, and for years ; and let them be for lights in 
the firmament of heaven, to give light upon their earth ; 
and it was so. And God has also made to them great 
lights. To all of them he has given the sun to rule the 
day ; and to many of them has he given moons to rule the 
night. To them he has made the stars also. And God 
has set them in the firmament of heaven, to give light upon 
their earth ; and to rule over the day, and over the night, 
and to divide the light from the darkness ; and God has 
seen that it was Qrpod. 

In all these greater arrangements of divine wisdom, we 
can see that God has done the same things for the accom- 
modation of the planets that he has done for the earth 
which we inhabit. And shall we say, that the resemblance 
stops here, because we are not in a situation to observe it 1 
Shall we say, that this scene of magnificence has been 
called into being merely for the amusement of a few as- 
tronomers 1 Shall we measure the counsels of heaven by 
die narrow impotence of the human faculties'? or con- 
ceive, that silence and solitude reign throughout the mighty 
empire of nature, that the greater part of creation is an 
empty parade, and that not a worshipper of the Divinity 
•.s to be found through the wide extent of yon vast and im- 
measurable regions ] 



HO NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON XXXV. 
The true Source of Reform. — Chapin. 

The great element of Reform is not born of human wis 
dom ; it does not draw its life from human organizations 
I find it only in Christianity. " Thy kingdom come V J 
There is a sublime and pregnant burden in this Prayer. It 
is the aspiration of every soul that goes forth in the spirit of 
Reform. For what is the significance of this Prayer ] It 
is a petition that all holy influences would penetrate and 
subdue and dwell in the heart of man, until he shall think, 
and speak, and do good, from the very necessity of his be- 
ing. So would the institutions of error and wrong crumble 
and pass away. So would sin die out from the earth. 
And the human soul, living in harmony with the Divine 
Will, this earth would become like Heaven. 

It is too late for the Reformers to sneer at Christianity 
— it is foolishness for them to reject it. In it are enshrin- 
ed our faith inhuman progress — our confidence in Reform. 
It is indissolubly connected with all that is hopeful, spiritu- 
al, capable in man. That men have misunderstood it and 
perverted it, is true. But it is also true that the noblest ef- 
forts for human melioration have come out of it — have been 
based upon it. Is it not so % Come, ye remembered ones, 
who sleep the sleep of the Just, who took your conduct 
from the line of Christian Philosophy — come from your 
tombs, and answer ! 

Come Howard, from the gloom of the prison and the 
taint of the lazar-house, and show us what Philanthropy 
can do when imbued with the spirit of Jesus. Come Eli- 
ot, from the thick forest where the red-man listens to the 
Word of Life — come Penn, from thy sweet counsel and 
weaponless victory ; and show us what Christian Zeal and 
Christian Love can accomplish with the rudest barbarians 
or the fiercest hearts. Come Raikes, from thy labours 
with the ignorant and the poor, and show us with what an 
eye this Faith regards the lowest and least of our race, and 
how diligently it labours, not for the body, not for the rank, 
but for the plastic soul that is to course the ages of immor- 
tality. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. Ill 

And ye, who are a great number — ye nameless ones — 
who have done good in your narrower spheres, content to 
forego renown on earth, and seeking your Reward in the 
Record on High, come and tell us how kindly a spirit, how 
lofty a purpose, or how strong a courage, the Religion ye 
professed can breathe into the poor, the humble, and the 
weak. 

Go forth, then, Spirit of Christianity, to thy great work 
of Reform ! The Past bears witness to thee in the blood 
of thy martyrs, and the ashes of thy saints and heroes. — 
The Present is hopeful because of thee. The Future shall 
acknowledge thy omnipotence. 



WESSON XXXVI. 
A Psalm of Life. — H. W. Longfellow, 

Tell mc not, in mournful numbers, 

Life is but an empty dream ; 
For the soul is dead that slumbers, 

And things are not what they seem. 

Life is real — life is earnest, 

But the grave is not its goal ; 
" Dust thou art — to dust returnest," 

Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or way ; 
But to act that each to-morrow 

Find us farther than to-day. 

Art is long, and time is fleeting, 

And our hearts, though stout and brave, 

Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

In this world's broad field of battle- 
In the bivouac of life, 

Be not like dumb, driven cattle ; 
Be a hero in the strife ! 
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112 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ; 

Let the dead Past bury its dead; 
Act — act in the living Present ! 

Heart within, and God o'er head ! 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime ; 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sand of time ! — 

Footprints, that perhaps another, 
Sailing o'er Life's solemn main, 

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing, 
With a heart for any fate ; 

Still achieving, still pursuing, 
Learn to labour and to wait. 



LESSON XXXVII. 

Employment of Winter Eve?iings by the "Young. — Prentice. 

During the winter season, most of the young of our land, 
particularly those of the country, have the evening at their 
own disposal, to devote to amusement, recreation, or what- 
ever pursuit they choose. We speak now of those who 
are employed in some active or necessary pursuit during 
the day, and to whom evening brings their only leisure ; 
for the youth who has not some such employment, or who 
does not seek it, is not the one to be benefited by any 
thing that may be said on the improvement of his leisure 
hours. We therefore address our remarks to the indus- 
trious youth of our country, who are trained to useful and 
laudable purposes. Such young men will hail the long 
evenings of this season with delight, and bless the glad 
hours which they may devote uninterruptedly to the culti- 
vation of their minds. 

Few young men are at all aware of the amount of valu- 
able knowledge of which they might become the masters 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLARATION. , 113 

and possessors, by a careful and judicious improvement of 
the leisure afforded by the evenings of a single winter ; 
and, when we add to this, the acquisition of ten or fifteen 
winters, the aggregate amount of what a youth of com- 
mon capacity might attain would make him a learned man 
in any section of the Union. Many who rendered them- 
selves eminent and useful in their day — the Franklins, 
the Shermans, the Rittenhouses, and the Bowditches of 
our own country — the Watts, the Fergusons, and the Simp- 
sons of England — names conspicuous in the list of bene- 
factors of their species — made themselves what they were 
by a diligeut use of less leisure time than falls to the lot of 
four-fifths of the young men of the United States. 

The greatest men of every age have in general been self- 
taught and self-made. They have risen from obscurity, and 
struggled with adverse circumstances. A diligent use of 
their time, a habit of studying and labouring while others 
slept or played, — a steady perseverance, and an indomita- 
ble energy, grave them their attainments and their eminence. 
Cicero, by far the most learned man of all antiquity, as 
well as the greatest orator of Rome, lets us at once into the 
secret of all his vast and varied learning,- when he tells us 
that the time which others gave to feasts, and dice, and 
sports, he devoted to patient study. 

It matters not what may be a young man's intended pur- 
suit in life ; he cannot choose any, for which reading and 
study during his leisure hours, will not the better qualify 
him. If he is to be a farmer, let him read books and trea- 
tises on agriculture ; if he is to be a mechanic, let him study 
the mathematics and the works on mechanism and architec- 
ture ; if he is to be a merchant, let him become famil- 
iar with the principles of political economy, the statis- 
tics of trade, and the history of commerce; and, finally, if 
he is to be an American citizen, one of the millions to 
whom is to be intrusted the rich heritage of civil and reli- 
gious liberty bequeathed to us by our fathers, let him study 
well the history, the constitution, and the institutions of 
the United States, and let him contemplate frequently the 
lives and character of those who wrought out and framed 
our liberties. 

Nor is the knowledge to be thus acquired the only in- 
ducement for a young man to devote the hours of his lei- 
d3 



114 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

sure to reading and study. The pleasure to be found in 
such pursuits is as much superior to that transient and gid- 
dy excitement attendant merely on the gayer amusements, 
as it is purer, more elegant, and more refined. The young 
man, too, who accustoms his mind to find pleasure and 
gratification in reading and study, can never want for soci- 
ety ; for he creates around him a society of which he can 
never be deprived — a society which will never weary of 
his presence, which has nothing cold, or artificial, or false — 
a society composed of the very elect of the earth — the mas- 
ter minds of all ages and all countries. With them he can 
retire into his library, to spend a leisure hour, whenever 
opportunity occurs, certain of finding them ever ready to 
delight and instruct. 



LESSON XXXVIII. 
Boohs. — Robert Southey. 

Mr days among the dead are past ; 

Around me I behold, 
Where'er these casual eyes are cast, 

The mighty minds of old : 
My never failing friends are they, 
With whom I converse, day by day. 

With them I take delight in weal, 

And seek relief in woe ; 
And, when I understand and feel 

How much to them I owe, 
My cheeks have often been bedew'd 
With tears of thoughtful gratitude. 

My thoughts are with the dead ; — with them, 

I live in long past years ; 
Their virtues love, their faults condemn, 

Partake their hopes and fears; 
And, from their lessons, seek and find 
Instruction with an humble mind. 



PIECES FOR READING AXU DECLAMATION. 115 

My hopes arc with the dead ; anon 
My place with them will be; * 

And with them T shall travel on 
Through all futurity ; 

Yet leaving here a name, I trust, 

Which will not perish in the dust. 



LESSON XXXIX. 

Helucllyn. — Walter Scott. 

In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of amosx 
iable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Helvei- 
lyn. His remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, 
when they were found guarded by a faithful dog, his constant attend- 
ant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland 
and Westmoreland. 

I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, 

Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty and 
wide ; 
All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling, 

And, starting around me, the echoes replied. 
On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, 
And Catchedicam its left verg^e was defending:, 
One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, 

When I mark'd the sad spot where the wand'rer had 
died. 

Dark green was that spot 'mid thebrown mountain heather, 

Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretch'd in decay, 
Like the corpse of an outcast, abandon'd to weather, 
Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay. 
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, 
For faithful in death, his mute favourite attended, 
The much-loved remains of her master defended, 
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. 

How long did'st thou think that his silence was slumber % 
When the wind waved his garment, how oft did'st thou 
start 1 
How many long days and long weeks did'st thou number, 
Ere faded before thee the friend of thy heart ? 
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116 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



And oh ! was it meet, that, — no requiem read o'er him,— 
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, — 
And thou, little guardian, alone stretch'd before him, — 
Unhonour'd the Pilgrim from life should depart 1 

When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded, 
The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall : 

With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, 
And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : 

Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleam- 
ing ; 

In the proudly arch'd chapel the banners are beaming ; 

'Far down the long aisle sacred music is streaming, 
Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall. 

But meetcr for thee, gentle lover of nature, 

To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, 
When wilder'd he drops from some cliff' huge in stature, 

And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. 
And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, 
Thy obsequies sung by the grey plover flying, 
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, 
In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam. 



LESSON XL. 

Character of Pitt. — Grattan. 

The Secretary stood alone; modern degeneracy had not 
reached him. Original and unaccommodating, the features 
of his character had the hardihood of antiquity. His au- 
gust mind overawed majesty ; and one of his sovereigns 
thought royalty so impaired in his presence, that he con- 
spired to remove him, in order to be relieved from his su- 
periority. No state chicanery, no narrow system of vicious 
politics, sank him to the vulgar level of the great ; but 
overbearing, persuasive, and impracticable, his object was 
England, his ambition was fame. Without dividing, he de- 
stroyed party ; without corrupting, he made a venal age 
unanimous. 



PIECES bOK READING AND DECLAMATION. 117 

France sank beneath him. With one hand he smote the 
house of Bourbon, and wielded with the other the demo- 
cracy of England. The sight of his mind was infinite ; and 
his schemes were to affect not England, and the present 
age only, but Europe and posterity. Wonderful were the 
means by which these schemes were accomplished ; always 
seasonable, always adequate, the suggestions of an under- 
standing animated by ardour and enlightened by prophecy. 

The ordinary feelings which render life amiable and in- 
dolent, were unknown to him. No domestic difficulty, no 
domestic weakness reached him, but, aloof from the sordid 
occurrences of life, and unsullied by its intercourse, he 
came occasionally into our system to counsel and to decide. 
A character so exalted, so strenuous, so various, and so au- 
thoritative, astonished a corrupt age ; and the Treasury 
trembled at the name of Pitt through all her classes of ve- 
nality. Corruption imagined, indeed, that she had found 
defects in this statesman, and talked much of the inconsis- 
tency of his glory, and much of the ruin of his victories ; 
but the history of his country and the calamities of the en- 
emy refuted her. 

Nor were his political abilities his only talents : his elo- 
quence was an era in the senate ; peculiar and spontane- 
ous, familiarly expressing gigantic sentiments and instinc- 
tive wisdom ; not like the torrent of Demosthenes, or the 
splendid conflagration of Tully, it resembled sometimes 
the thunder, and sometimes the music of the spheres. He 
did not, like Murray, conduct the understanding through 
the painful subtlety of argumentation, nor was he, like 
Townshend, forever on the rack of exertion ; but rather 
lightened upon the subject, and reached the point by flash- 
ings of the mind, which, like those of his eye, were felt, 
but could not be followed. 

Upon the whole, there was something in this man that 
could create, subvert, or reform ; an understanding, a spirit, 
and an eloquence, to summon mankind to society, or to 
break the bonds of slavery asunder, and to rule the wil- 
derness of free minds with unbounded authority — some- 
thing that could establish or overwhelm empires, and strike 
a blow in the world which should resound throughout the 
universe. 



d5 



118 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON XLI. 
Decision of Character. — Rev. D. Wise. 

It was anciently said of Fabricius, a noble Roman,, that a 
man might as easily turn the sun from its course, as to per- 
suade him to do a base or a dishonest action. This saying 
proves the reputation of Fabricius for impregnable integrity, 
and for unyielding decision. Our Milton's description of 
Abdiel is similar. He was 



Faithful found 



Among the faithless ; faithful he 

Among innumerable false, unmoved, 

Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified; 

His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal. 

Nor number, nor example with him wrought, 

To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind, 

Though single." 

And such is the character which every young person 
should labor to form for himself. He should be a Joshua in 
the midst of the irresolute and faltering, crying, " As for 
me and my house, we will serve the Lord." An Elijah, 
defending the honor of prostrate truth, in the very congrega- 
tion of Baal ; and exhorting them, "If thp Lord be God to 
serve him." A Daniel, holding on to his integrity in the 
face of death, crying aloud in the hearing of the wicked, 
" My God will send his angel, and will shut the lions' 
mouths, that they shall not hurt me." A Paul, professing 
godliness before philosophers on Mars Hill, or in the pres- 
ence of Nero at the court of Rome ; and always declaring 
by word and act, " I count all things loss for the excellency 
of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord." 

The leading element in a decided Christian is firmness. 
Nothing moves him away from the post of duty. His whole 
being is brought into subjection to religious principles. Hav- 
ing " put his hand to the plough," nothing induces him to 
look back. He never falters or hesitates. His mind is 
made up to do right. Be it ever so costly to please God, he 
cheerfully pays the price, because he has settled it irrevoca- 
bly, that the approbation of God is worth all else combined. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 119 

LESSON XLII. 
Story of the Siege of Calais. — Brooke. 

Edward III. after the battle of Cressy, laid siege to 
Calais. He had fortified his camp in so impregnable a 
manner, that all the efforts of France proved ineffectual to 
raise the siege, or throw succours into the city. The citi- 
zens, under Count Vienne, their gallant governor, made an 
admirable defence. France had now put the sickle into 
her second harvest, since Edward, with his victorious ar- 
my, sat down before the town. The eyes of all Europe 
were intent on the issue. 

At length, famine did more for Edward than arms. Af- 
ter suffering unheard-of calamities, the French resolved to 
attempt the enemy's camp. They boldly sallied forth j the 
English joined battle ; and after a long and desperate engage- 
ment, Count Vienne was taken prisoner, and the citizens 
who survived the slaughter retired within their gates. The 
command devolving upon Eustace St. Pierre, a man of 
mean birth, but of exalted virtue, he offered to capitulate 
with Edward, provided he permitted them to depart with 
life and liberty. Edward, to avoid the imputation of cru- 
elty, consented to spare the bulk of the plebeians, provided, 
they delivered up to him six of their principal citizens with 
halters about their necks, as victims of due atonement for 
that spirit of rebellion with which they had inflamed the 
vulgar. When his messenger, Sir Walter Mauny, deliver- 
ed the terms, consternation and pale dismay were impress 
ed on every countenance. 

To a long and dead silence, deep sighs and groans sue 
ceeded, till Eustace St. Pierre, getting up to a little emi 
nence, thus addressed the assembly : — " My friends, we are 
brought to great straits this day. We must either yield to* 
the terms of our cruel and ensnaring conqueror, or give up 
our tender infants, our wives, and daughters, to the bloody 
and brutal lusts of the violating soldiers. Is there any ex- 
pedient left, whereby we may avoid the guilt and infamy ol 
delivering up those who have suffered every misery with 
you, on the one hand, or the desolation and horror of a sack- 
ed city, on the other ] There is, my friends ; there is one 
d6 



120 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

expedient left ! — a gracious, an excellent, a godlike expe- 
dient left ! Is there any here to whom virtue is dearer than 
life ] Let hirn offer himself an oblation for the safety of his 
people ! He shall not fail of a blessed approbation from 
that Power who offered up his only Son for the salvation of 
mankind." 

He spoke ; — but a universal silence ensued. Each man 
looked around for the example of that virtue and magna- 
nimity which all wished to approve in themselves, though 
they wanted the resolution. At length St. Pierre resum- 
ed : "I doubt not but there are many here as ready, nay, 
more zealous of this martyrdom, than I can be ; though the 
station to which I am raised by the captivity of Lord Vi- 
enne, imparts a right to be the first in giving my life for 
your sakes. I give it freely ; I give it cheerfully. Who 
comes next V* 

" Your son !" exclaimed a youth not yet come to maturi- 
ty. — " Ah ! my child!" cried St. Pierre ; " I am then twice 
sacrificed. — But no ; I have rather begotten thee a second 
time. Thy years are few, but full, my son. Thp victim of 
virtue has reached the utmost puipose and goal of mortali- 
ty ! Who next, my friends I This is the hour of heroes." 

" Your kinsman," cried John de Aire. — " Your kinsman," 
cried James Wissant. — " Your kinsman," cried Peter Wis- 
sant. — " Ah !" exclaimed Sir Walter Mauny, bursting into 
tears, " why was not I a citizen of Calais ?" 

The sixth victim was still wanting, but was quickly sup- 
plied by lot, from numbers who were now emulous of so en- 
nobling an example. The keys of the city were then de- 
livered to Sir Walter. He took the six prisoners into his 
custody ; then ordered the gates to be opened, and gave 
charge to his attendants to conduct the remaining citizens, 
with their families, through the camp of the English. Be- 
fore they departed, however, they desired permission to 
rake a last adieu of their deliverers. 

What a parting ! what a scene ! they crowded with iheii 
■vires and children about St. Pierre and his fellow-prison- 
ers. They embraced ; they clung around ; they fell pros- 
'Tate before them : they groaned ; they wept aloud ; and 
she joint clamour of their mourning passed the gates of the 
=nty, and was heard throughout the English camp. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 121 

LESSON XLIII. 

The same Story Continued. — Brooke. 

The English, by this time, were apprized of what pass- 
ed within Calais. They heard the voice of lamentation, 
and their souls were touched with compassion. Each oi 
the soldiers prepared a portion of his own victuals, to wel- 
come and entertain the half-famished inhabitants ; and they 
loaded them with as much as their present weakness was 
able to bear, in order to supply them with sustenance by 
the way. 

At length, St. Pierre and his fellow-victims appeared, un- 
der conduct of Sir Walter and a guard. All the tents oi 
the English were instantly emptied. The soldiers poured 
from all parts, and arranged themselves on each side, to be- 
hold, to contemplate, to admire, this little band of patriots, 
as they passed. They bowed to them on all sides ; they 
murmured their applause of that virtue which they could 
not but revere, even in enemies ; and they regarded those 
ropes, which they had voluntarily assumed about their necks, 
as ensigns of greater dignity than that of the British gar- 
ter. 

As soon as they had reached the presence, " Mauny,"says 
the monarch, " are these the principal inhabitants of Ca- 
lais 1" — " They are," says Mauny : " they are not only the 
principal men of Calais, they are the principal men of 
France, my Lord, if virtue has any share in the act of en- 
nobling." — "Were they delivered peaceably]" says Ed- 
ward : " was there no resistance, no commotion among 
the people ?" — " Not in the least, my Lord : the people 
would all have perished, rather than have delivered the 
least of these to your Majesty. They are self-delivered, 
self-devoted ; and come to offer up their inestimable heads 
as an ample equivalent for the ransom of thousands." 

Edward was secretly piqued at this reply of Sir Walter ; 
but he knew the privilege of a British subject, and suppress- 
ed his resentment. "Experience," says he, "has ever 
shown, that lenity only serves to invite people to new 
crimes. Severity, at times, is indispensably necessary to 
compel subjects to submission by punishment and example. 



122 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

• 

— G-o," he cried to an officer, "lead these men to execu- 
tion." 

At this instant, a sound of triumph was heard through- 
out the camp. The Queen had just arrived with a power- 
ful reinforcement of gallant troops. Sir Walter Mauny 
flew to receive her Majesty, and briefly informed her oi 
the particulars respecting the six victims. 

As soon as she had been welcomed by Edward and his 
court, she desired a private audience : — " My Lord," said 
she, " the question I am to enter upon, is not touching the 
lives of a few mechanics — it respects the honour of the En- 
glish nation ; it respects the glory of my Edward, my hus- 
band, my king. You think you have sentenced six of your 
enemies to death. No, my Lord, they have sentenced them- 
selves ; and their execution would be the execution of their 
own orders, not the orders of Edward. The stage on 
which they would suffer, would be to them a stage of hon- 
our; but a stage of shame to Edward — a reproach to his 
conquests — an indelible disgrace to his name. Let us ra- 
ther disappoint these haughty burghers, who wish to invest 
themselves with glory at our expense. We cannot wholly 
deprive them of the merit of a sacrifice so nobly intended ; 
but we may cut them short of their desires. In the place 
of that death by which their glory would be consummate, let 
us bury them under gifts ; let us put them to confusion 
with applauses. We shall thereby defeat them of that pop- 
ular opinion which never fails to attend those who suffer in 
the cause of virtue." 

" I am convinced : you have prevailed. Be it so," repli- 
ed Edward : " prevent the execution : have them instantly 
before us." They came : when the Queen, with an as- 
pect and accents diffusing sweetness, thus bespoke them : — 

"Natives of France, and inhabitants of Calais, ye have 
put us to a vast expense of blood and treasure, in the recov- 
ery of our just and natural inheritance ; but you have acted 
up to the best of an erroneous judgment, and we admire 
and honour in you that valour and virtue, by which we are 
so long kept out of our rightful possessions. You noble 
burghers ! you excellent citizens ! though you were ten« 
fold the enemies of our person and our throne, we can feel 
nothing, on our part, save respect and affection for you. 
You have been sufficiently tested. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 123 

" We loose your chains ; we snatch you from the scaffold ; 
and we thank you for that lesson of humiliation which you 
teach us, when you show us, that excellence is not of blood, 
title, or station ; that virtue gives a dignity superior to that 
of kings ; and that those whom the Almighty informs with 
sentiments like yours, are justly and eminently raised 
above all human distinctions. You are now free to depart 
to your kinsfolk, your countrymen — to all those whose 
lives and liberties you have so nobly defended — provided 
you refuse not the tokens of our esteem. Yet we would 
rather bind you to ourselves by every endearing obligation ; 
and, for this purpose, we offer to you your choice of the 
gifts and honours that Edward has to bestow. Rivals for 
fame, but always friends to virtue, we wish that England 
were entitled to call you her sons." 

" Ah, my country !" exclaimed Pierre; " it is now that 
I tremble for you. Edward only wins our cities; but 
Philippa conquers our hearts." 






LESSON XLIV. 
Elegy in a Country Churchyard. — Gray. 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
The lowing herds wind slowly o'er the lea, 

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 

Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight, 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:— 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 
The moping owl does to the moon complain 

Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap. 

Each kj his narrow cell for ever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 



124 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed ! 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care : 

No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke : 

How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 

How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 

Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 

. And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 

Await alike th' inevitable hour, — 

The paths of glory lead — but to the grave ! 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
If memory o'er their tombs no trophies raise, 

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn, or animated bust, 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath 1 

Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust % 
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death 1 

Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid, 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; — 

Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre ! 

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; 

Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 

The dark, unfathom'd caves of ocean bear ; 



J 



PIECES FOB READING AND DECLAMATION. 125 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood — 

Some mute, inglorious Milton, here may rest — 
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 

Th' applause of list ning senates to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 

And read their history in a nation's eyes, 

Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined— 

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; — 

The struggling pang-s of conscious truth to hide, 
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 

Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray ; 

Along the cool sequester' d vale of life 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect, 

Some frail memorial, still erected nigh, 
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, 

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spell'd by th' unletter'd Muse* 

The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
And many a holy text around she strews, 

To teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 

This pleasing, anxious being, e'er resign'd, 

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 

Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, 
Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. 



126 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; 

If, 'chance, by lonely contemplation led, 
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, 

Haply, some hoary-headed swain may say, 
" Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn 

Brushing with hasty steps the dew away, 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 

" There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 

His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

" Hard by yon wood, now, smiling as in scorn, 
Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove ; 

Now drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn, 
Or crazed with care, or cross'd in ho_peless love 

" One morn, I miss'd him on th' accustom'd hill, 
Along the heath, and near his favourite tree ; 

Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; 

" The next — with dirges due, in sad array, 

Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne- 
Approach, and read — for thou can'st read — the lay, 
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 

THE EPITAPH. 

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, 
A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown : 

Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, 
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send : 
He gave to Misery all he had, — a tear ; 

He gain'd from heaven — 'twas all he wish'd — a friend 

No farther seek his merits to disclose, 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode — 

(There they alike in trembling hope repose !) — 
The bosom of his Father and his God ! 






PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 127 

LESSON XLV. 

America and Ireland. — C. Phillips. 

The mention of America has never failed to fill me with 
the most lively emotion. In my earliest youth, that tender 
season when impressions, at once the most permanent and 
the most powerful, are likely to be excited, the story of her 
then recent struggle raised a throb in every heart that lov- 
ed liberty, and wrung a reluctant tribute even from discom- 
fited oppression. I saw her spurning alike the luxuries 
that would enervate, and the legions that would intimidate ; 
dashing from her lips the poisoned cup of European servi- 
tude ; and, through all the vicissitudes of her protracted 
conflict, displaying a magnanimity that defied misfortune, 
a moderation that gave new grace to victory. It was the 
first vision of my childhood ; it will descend with me to the 
grave. 

But if, as a man, I venerate the mention of America, 
what must be my feelings towards her as an Irishman ! 
Never, O never, while memory remains, can Ireland for- 
get the home of her emigrant, and the asylum of her exile. 
No matter whether their sorrows sprang from the errors 
of enthusiasm, or the realities of suffering ; from fancy, or 
infliction ; that must be reserved for the scrutiny of those, 
whom the lapse of time shall acquit of partiality. It is for 
the men of other ages to investigate and record it. But 
surely, it is for the men of every age to hail the hospitality 
that received the shelterless, and love the feeling that be- 
friended the unfortunate. 

Search creation round, where can you find a country 
that presents so sublime a view, so interesting an anticipa- 
tion % What noble institutions ! What a comprehensive 
policy ! What a wise equalization of every political advan- 
tage ! The oppressed of all countries, the martyrs of ev- 
ery creed, the innocent victim of despotic arrogance or su- 
perstitious frenzy, may there find a refuge ; his industry 
encouraged, his piety respected, his ambition animated ; 
with no restraint but those laws, which are the same to all, 
and no distinction but that, which his merit may originate. 
Who can deny that the existence of such a country presents 
a subject for human congratulation ! ' Who can deny, that 



128 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

its gigantic advancement offers a field tor the most ration- 
al conjecture ! At the end of the next century, if she pro- 
ceeds as she seems to promise, what a wondrous spectacle 
may she not exhibit ! Who shall say for what purpose a 
mysterious Providence may not have designed her ! Who 
shall say that when, in its follies or its crimes, the old 
world may have interred all the pride of its power, and all 
the pomp . of its civilization, human nature may not find its 
destined renovation in the new ! 

For myself, I have no doubt of it. I have not the least 
doubt, that when our temples and our trophies shall have 
mouldered into dust — when the glories of our name shall 
be but the legend of tradition, and the light of our achieve- 
ments only live in song, philosophy will rise again in the 
sky of her Franklin, and glory rekindle at the urn of her 
Washington. Is this the vision of a romantic fancy ] Is 
it even improbable 1 Is it half so improbable as the events, 
which for the last twenty years have rolled like successive 
tides over the surface of the European world, each erasing 
the impression that preceded it 1 

Thousands upon thousands, Sir, I know there are, who 
will consider this supposition as wild and whimsical ; but 
they have dwelt with little reflection upon the records of 
the past. They have but ill observed the never-ceasing 
progress of national rise and national ruin. They form 
their judgment on the deceitful stability of the present hour, 
never considering the innumerable monarchies and repub- 
lics, in former days apparently as permanent, their very ex- 
istence become now the subjects of speculation — I had al- 
most said, of scepticism. 

I appeal to History! Tell me, thou reverend chronicler 
of the grave, can all the illusions of ambition realized, can 
all the wealth of an universal commerce, can all the achieve 
ments of successful heroism, or all the establishments of thii 
world's wisdom, secure to empire the permanency of its 
possessions 1 Alas, Troy thought so once ; yet the land 
of Priam lives only in song ! Thebes thought so once, yet 
her hundred gates have crumbled, and her very tombs are 
but as the dust they were vainly intended to commemorate. 
So thought Palmyra — where is she 1 So thought the coun- 
tries of Demosthenes and the Spartan, yet Leonidas is 
trampled by the timid slave, and Athens insulted by the ser- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 129 

vile, mindless, and enervate Ottoman. In his hurried march, 
Time has but looked at their imagined immortality — and all 
their vanities, from the palace to the tomb, have, with their 
ruins, erased the very impression of his footsteps ! The 
days of their glory are as if they had never been ; and the 
island, that was then a speck, suae and neglected in the bar- 
ren ocean, now rivals the ubiquity of their commerce, the 
glory of their arms, the fame of their philosophy, the elo- 
quence of their senate, and the inspiration of their bards ! 

Who shall say, then, contemplating the past, that Eng- 
land, proud and potent as she appears, may not one day be 
what Athens is, and the young America yet soar to be what 
Athens was 1 Who shall say, when the European column 
shall have mouldered, and the night of barbarism obscured 
its very ruins, that that mighty continent may not emerge 
from the horizon, to rule, for its time, sovereign of the as- 
cendant ! 



LESSON XL VI. 
Tribute to Washington. — C. Phillips. 

Allow me to add one flower to the chaplet, which, though 
it sprang in America, is no exotic. Virtue planted it, and 
it is naturalized every where. I see you anticipate me 
— I see you concur with me, that it matters very little 
what spot may be the birth-place of such a man as Wash- 
ington. No people can claim, no country can appropriate 
him. The boon of Providence to the human race, his fame 
is eternity, and his residence creation. Though it was the 
defeat of our arms, and the disgrace of our policy, I almost 
bless the convulsion in which he had his origin. If the 
heavens thundered, and the earth rocked, yet, when the 
storm had passed, how pure was the climate that it cleared ! 
how bright, in the brow of the firmament, was the planet 
which it revealed to us ! 

In the production of Washington, it does really appear 
as if Nature was endeavouring to improve upon herself, and 
that all the virtues of the ancient world were but so many 
studies preparatory to the patriot of the new. Individual 



130 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

instances, no doubt there were, splendid exemplifications 
of some singular qualification : Caesar was merciful, Sci- 
pio was continent, Hannibal was patient ; but it was re- 
served for Washington to blend them all in one, and, like 
the lovely masterpiece of the Grecian artist, to exhibit, in 
one glow of associated beauty, the pride of every model, 
and the perfection of every master. 

As a general, he marshalled the peasant into a veteran, 
and supplied by discipline the absence of experience ; as 
a statesman, he enlarged the policy of the cabinet into the 
most comprehensive system of general advantage; and such 
was the wisdom of his views, and the philosophy of his 
counsels, that, to the soldier and the statesman, he almost 
added the character of the sage ! A conqueror, he was un- 
tainted with the crime of blood; a revolutionist, he was 
free from any stain of treason; for aggression commenced 
the contest, and his country called him to the command. 

Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory 
returned it. If he had paused here, history might have 
doubted what station to assign him; whether at the head 
of her citizens, or her soldiers, her heroes or her patriots. 
But the last glorious act crowns his career, and banishes 
all hesitation. Who, like Washington, after having eman- 
cipated a hemisphere, resigned its crown, and preferred 
the retirement of domestic life to the adoration of a land 
he might be almost said to have created ! 

"How shall we rank thee upon Glory's page, 
Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage; 
All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee, 
Far less than all thou hast forborne to be !" 

Such, sir, is the testimony of one not to be accused of 
partiality in his estimate of America. Happy, proud Ame- 
rica ! The lightnings of heaven yielded to your philoso- 
phy! The temptations of earth could not seduce your pa- 
triotism ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 131 

LESSON .XLVII. 

Self- Government. — Bishop Hedding. 

The man who rules his own spirit has his affections with- 
drawn from all forbidden objects, and united to all those 
which it is proper for such a being to regard, in a degree 
suited to their natures, the obligations he is under to them, 
and the condition in which Providence has placed him. His 
passions and propensities are in proper subjection to reason, 
and to the rules of duty made known to him in the revealed 
will of God. His words and actions are governed by the same 
principles, and are employed to promote the grand objects 
for which the Creator sent him into the world, and endowed 
him with the faculties which so wonderfully distinguish him 
from, and place him above all other kinds of creatures on 
the earth. 

Of all the associations formed in this life, that of the con- 
jugal life is the most endearing and the most important. 
But the happiness of this relation depends so much on the 
principle of self-government, that, without a proper manage- 
ment, reciprocally, in the parties, of temper and conduct, 
the happiness contemplated will not be realized ; but the 
connection itself will become an occasion of the direful ills 
of life. Still when those who have formed this important 
relation, and taken upon themselves these solemn obligations, 
have learned to rule their own spirits, " to walk in all the 
commandments and ordinances of the Lord blameless," 
they will realize the blessings of a happy union of kindred 
minds, and will aid each other in ruling their own spirit, 
and in preparing for higher enjoyments. 

Parents ruling their own spirits, will learn to " rule well 
their own house, having their children in subjection with all 
gravity." They will be solicitous, not only for the tempo- 
ral welfare of their children, but also for their spiritual and 
eternal happiness. Likewise, the rising members of a fami- 
ly thus educated, having learned to rule their own spirits, 
will study the things of peace and love ; will live together 
as brethren ; will reciprocate acts of mutual justice and 
kindness, and will form such characters, in the estimation of 
men, that the heads of such a family " shall not be ashamed, 
but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate." 



132 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

The good effects resulting from self-government, through- 
out society in general, are too well known to need a minute 
illustration. A few observations shall suffice. Among 
men in the various connections of civilized life, this exhibi- 
tion of the restraint and influence of correct principles, not 
only directly promotes social happiness, but through the in- 
fluence of good examples the bold transgressor, and even 
the infidel, are in some measure restrained ; so that these 
are far less wicked than they would be if these examples 
were not before them. Dreadful, indeed, would be the state 
of our world, were there no examples of self-restraint, and 
no influence of correct principles ! 

Self-government, in every relation, and under every cir- 
cumstance, will counteract the passions and appetites most 
subversive of human happiness. It breaks the ruthless 
fangs of fraud, and secures from the deadly gripe of its 
iron jaws the rights of innocence and unsuspecting honesty. 
It wrests from the rapacious appetite of luxury the super- 
abundant gifts of Providence, and converts them into instru- 
ments of mercy to those destitute of daily bread, and into 
means of promoting religious, moral, and human institutions. 
It tames that unruly member, and chains in eternal silence 
the tongue of slander, which, otherwise, would be set on 
fire of hell, and would " set on fire the whole course of na- 
ture." It employs that noble gift for the great social pur- 
poses for which it was originally bestowed. It dries up the 
poisoned streams of intemperance, and leads those thirsty souls, 
who would pine and die under its malignant effects, to those 
salubrious waters, " which make glad the city of God." It 
subdues those libidinous propensities, which, in so many in- 
stances, where this principle does not operate, drive multi- 
tudes of the children of Adam from the society of civilized 
man, to roam like herds through the dark and filthy places 
of the earth ; not considering that the dead are there, and 
that the guests, who have gone before them, are in the depths 
of hell. It fixes a sovereign check on pride, ambition, envy, 
jealousy, and resentment, which, unrestrained, would burst 
forth like so many flames from the regions beneath, and 
spread desolation and death through the earth. 

When princes, and senates, and the great among the na- 
tions, shall generally yield to the rightful authority of this 
principle, it will put a stop to the career of war, that demon 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 133 

of darkness which has triumphed over the earth since the 
days of Nimrod, involving cities in flames, and countries in 
ruins, depopulating the earth and drenching it with the 
blood of the slain of all nations. 

Yes, self-government shall hush into perpetual silence 
"the thunder of the captains," the shouts of the conquerors, 
the wild, distracted cry of the vanquished, and the groans 
of the wounded and the dying in the field of carnage. 
Then, then, blessed be God, the nations shall beat their 
swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning- 
hooks : nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither 
shall they learn war any more. Then all the tribes of 
men shall raise a shout towards heaven, melodious as when 
angels sing : — " Alleluia ! for the Lord God omnipotent 
reigneth !" 



LESSON XLVIII. 

Christianity disarms Death. — Rev. Dr. Winans. 

But if death may not be eluded by man, may he not be 
disarmed 1 Cannot man, armed in the panoply of his own 
virtues, repel or render innoxious the sting to which this ad- 
versary owes its terrors, by which he is rendered so formi- 
dable to man 7 As successfully would he aim a straw 
against a whirlwind. To accomplish this, there must be in 
those virtues atoning merit, to satisfy the claims of violated 
law, and the demands of insulted justice. There must be 
an energy equal to the healing of the breach, occasioned by 
sin, in the order and harmony of the moral world. The 
law must be indemnified for its violation ; and sufficient sat- 
isfaction rendered to magnify and make it honorable. Its 
dignity had been insulted, its sanctity sulliecf? its authority 
brought into question — these injuries must be atoned, or 
death remains armed in all its terrors. And can the inde- 
pendent virtues of man, even supposing him capable of such 
virtues, accomplish all this ? No ; nor any part of it. 

Is there, then, no possibility of man's escaping from these 
terrors ? There is ; and the knowledge of the fact inspired 
the apostle, as it should do every man, with ardent gratitude 



134 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

to God. He had contemplated death in all the terrors de- 
rived from a violated law, exacting upon man, under the 
guarantee of omnipotence, for his sins ; and, while over- 
whelmed with the anguish which such a view of the wretched 
condition of man was calculated to produce, he casts his 
eyes to Calvary, and, in view of the blood-stained banner of 
the Redeemer, under which man may achieve a victory 
over death, he breaks out with, " Thanks be to God !" Nor 
was there ever greater cause for thankfulness, whether we 
consider the greatness of the benefaction, or the manner in 
which it was wrought. 

It is, considered in all its relations and dependencies, 
nothing less than complete deliverance from the dreadful con- 
sequences of both original and personal transgression. It 
implies pardon, sanctification, the assurance of hope, and 
resurrection from the dead. It raises man from the ruins 
and ignominy of the fall, to " glory, honor, immortality, and 
eternal life." The manner in which this deliverance was 
wrought is equally calculated to inspire gratitude. It was 
not by simple benevolent volition of the Deity ; it was not 
by a mighty exertion of Omnipotence; it was by giving up 
his own Son to be a propitiation for the sins of the world. 
We said before, that the life of the world was derived from 
death. It was the death of Jesus of which we spake. The 
cross, on which he expired, watered by his blood, is fruitful 
of eternal salvation to all those who conform themselves to 
the requirements of that plan, on which the Gospel proposes 
to save man. • 



LESSON XLIX. 

The Seen and the Unseen. — Ephradi Peabody. 

There is* a spiritual element interfused through the 
whole material world, and which lies at the source of all 
action. It is this which lifts the world out of chaos, and 
clothes it with light and order. The most ordinary act 
springs out of the soul, and derives its character from the 
soul. It seems trifling, only because its spiritual origin 
is forgotten. While on the surface of life all may be calm, 
it is startling to think what mysteries of passion and afFec- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 135 

tion may be beneath. Though heedless of it, we move in 
a universe of spiritual life. It is with us as with men that 
lie dreaming in their beds at sea, between whom and the 
ocean is but a single plank : cabined, cribbed, confined in 
our narrow, individual existence, there is all the time rush- 
ing by us, its moanings in our ears, its tremblings reach- 
ing to oar hearts, the mystic tide of spiritual life. 

" The spirit giveth life." We need not go far, if we 
will but open our eyes, to see how the most ordinary acts 
of man are penetrated by a spiritual element. And where 
this is, nothing can be tame or common-place. Nothing, 
at first sight, is more worldly and unspiritual than a com- 
mercial newspaper. It deals solely with the affairs of the 
day, and with material interests. Yet when we come to 
consider them, its driest details are instinct with human 
hopes, and fears, and affections ; and these illuminate what 
was dark, and make the dead letter breathe with life. 

For example : — in the paper of to-day, a middle-aged 
man seeks employment in a certain kind of business. The 
advertisement has, in substance, been the same for weeks. 
For a time, he sought some place, which presupposed the 
possession of business habits and attainments. Then 
there was a change in the close of the advertisement, indi- 
cating that he would do any thing by which he could ren- 
der himself useful to an employer. And, this morning, 
there is another change : he is willing to commence with 
low wages, as employment is what he especially wants. 

All this is uninteresting enough ; yet what depths of 
life may lie underneath this icy surface of business detail ! 
It is easy for the fancy to seek out and make the acquaint- 
ance of this man. He is a foreigner, in poverty, with a 
family, brought to this country by the hopes which have 
brought so many hither, only that they might be over- 
whelmed with disappointment. He is a stranger, and 
finds all places of business full. Already his family is 
parting with every superfluous article of dress and furni- 
ture ; their food grows daily more scanty and meagre ; 
broken down in heart and hopes, he seeks, through all the 
avenues of business, some employment, and cannot find it. 
The decent pride, and the desire to enter that business for 
which his previous habits had fitted him, have kept him 
up for a time ; but these are fast departing under the 



136 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



pressure of penury ; and this morning's advertisement 
means, that the day seems near at hand when his children 
may cry for bread, and he have none to give. Not al- 
ways, by any means, but how often might such advertise- 
ments tell tales like this ! 

Could we but look, through this long line of advertise- 
ments, into the hearts of those who have published them, 
what a revelation would there be of human life ! Here 
are partnerships formed and closed ; young men entering 
into business, old men going out of it ; new inventions and 
speculations ; failures, sales of household furniture, and 
dwellings. These have been attended by the most san- 
guine hopes, by utter hopelessness, by every form of fear, 
anxiety, and sorrow. This young man, just entering bu- 
siness, looks forward, with anticipations bright as the 
morning, to his marriage day. This sale of furniture 
speaks of^death, diminished fortunes, a scattered family. 
There is not a sale of stocks, which does not straiten or 
increase the narrow means of widows and orphans. 

This long column of ship news — a thousand hearts are 
at this moment beating with joy and thankfulness, or are 
oppressed by anxiety, or crushed down by sorrow, because 
of these records, which to others seem so meaningless ! — 
One reads here of his prosperity ; another of ruined for- 
tunes. And the wrecked ship, whose crew was swept by 
the surp-e into the breakers, and dashed on the rocks — 
how many in their solitary homes are mourning for those 
who sailed with bright hopes in that ship, but who shall 
never return ! 

And, more than this — could these lines which record the 
transactions of daily business, tell of the hearts which in- 
dited them, what temptations and struggles would they 
reveal ! They would tell of inexperience deceived or 
protected ; of integrity fallen, or made stedfast as the 
rock ; of moral trials, in which noble natures have been 
broken down or built up. Had we the key and the in- 
terpretation of what we here read, this daily chronicle of 
traffic would be a sadder tragedy than any which Shaks- 
peare wrote. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 137 

LESSON L. 

The Dignity of Labour. — Rev. Dr. M'Clintock. 

It is my earnest purpose, on this occasion, to impress 
upon your minds, not merely the necessity of labour, but 
also its dignity as a duty, and its elevation as a virtue ; 
to show you that it is a necessary prerequisite of moral 
progress, and a fundamental element of God's law for 
man. 

To point out the way of success in life, is no easy task. 
I cannot pretend to lay open any path which will lead un- 
erringly to the goal ; to offer any plan of life whose issue 
must be success. But the easier duty is before me, of tell- 
ing you that you can travel in none of the beaten ways of 
the world, nor carve out any new road for yourselves, with- 
out labor. If I cannot assure you of success, even with 
the most faithful effort, I can foretell your failure without it. 
It does not need the prophet's eagle vision to penetrate thus 
far into the cloudy future ; feeble as is the light which ex- 
perience throws upon man's dim and perilous way, it is 
strong enough for this. I sympathize with the poet's ex- 
clamation — 

'•- what a glorious animal were man, 
Knew he but his own powers, and knowing, gave them 
Room for their growth and spread !" 

But let those powers be what they may, they will not only 
remain without fruit, but wither and decay, unless kept 
alive and vigorous by exercise. The sinew and muscle of 
the mind, like those of the body, may be strengthened by 
activity or enervated by repose. 

But until you make the experiment of action, and put 
yourself to the test bf toil, you know not what stuff you are 
made of, nor what faculties you possess. Do you wish to 
know what you are ? Act, and you will find out ; slum- 
ber, and you shall never know. In action alone does 
a man's nature project itself into a living, tangible, intel- 
ligible reality; in action alone is his true character un- 
folded. 



138 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

The dark germ within lies sleeping, nay, lifeless, until 
the man obeys his destiny, and warms it into being by the 
determination to act ; and then, in the atmosphere of labour, 
under the free showers and the warm sunshine, it grows and 
is developed, in spreading branches and extended boughs, 
with green leaves, and at last with generous fruit. Rather, 
should I not say, that the deep root of that tree of life, hidden 
far down in the earth, is labour, or the will to labour ? The 
branches may be stripped and shattered by the storm ; the 
trunk itself may be riven by the lightning ; but if that 
strong root remain, it will send forth young and vigourous 
shoots again, and defy the elements. If there be worth in 
you, its development lies with yourselves ; it is for you to say 
whether it shall sleep, unsuspected by others, unknown even 
to yourselves, or whether it shall show itself in action, that 
only manifestation of humanity which commands all men's 
homage — that only universal criterion of a man's claims and 
his merits. 

There are many young persons of romantic temperament 
that look forward to the attainment of the highest ends of 
human life, without dreaming of the price that must be paid 
for them. They are forever building castles in the air. 
The future is their dreamy home. Their imagination is 
more potent than Aladdin's lamp. They dwell in cloud- 
land, and fill it with their own gorgeous creations. To their 
ardent spirits, time and distance are nothing ; they pass 
through space with fairy speed, and bear down barriers with 
a giant's arm. Alas ! that they should wake from these en- 
chantments, and say, " Lo ! it was but a dream !" 

I trust that none of you breathe this sentimental atmos- 
phere ; but, are you not inhabiting one as dense and not so 
romantic ? You are all looking forward to success. Have 
you calculated the cost ? Have you prepared the instru- 
ments ? The edifice of your fortunes is to be reared by 
yourselves: have you laid the foundation ? I trust, at least, 
that your experience thus far will enforce the lesson that 
labour is the price of success. Even in the narrow field to 
which you have heretofore been confined, you must have 
discovered that it is impossible to get something for nothing ; 
that the Divine declaration, " Thou shalt eat thy bread in 
the sweat of thy brow," has not lost its force ; and that it 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 139 

applies as well to the nourishment of the intellect as to the 
sustenance of the body. 

In the miniature world where you have spent the last few 
years, you have seen these great truths daily exemplified. 
You have seen mediocrity outstrip genius in the race. You 
have seen high ambition, unsustained by persevering labour, 
degenerate into an idle longing, without purposes and with- 
out fruits. You have seen the fabric of knowledge rising 
up, slowly but surely, under the hand of untiring industry ; 
while, on the other hand, wit and talent have stood among 
the scattered elements of the building, wasting day after 
day, and year after year, and all the time hardly laying one 
stone upon zftiother. What you have beheld here is what 
you will ever see in the course of human life. 

Look out into the great world, and see. Who are the 
great men ? Who have been the leaders, the reformers, the 
thinkers, the heroes of mankind 1 By what process was 
their being built up — the Platos, the Ciceros, the Pauls, the 
Burkes — giants of their kind ? Was it by dreams and 
visions, by sloth and self-indulgence ? Grew up Luther's 
noble heart in ease ? Was Wesley's iron fibre the product 
of repose 1 You have communed with great men to little 
purpose, if you have not learned that, however else they 
may have differed, in one respect they v/ere all alike. Their 
sinews grew by labor. The records of their lives is but a 
register of their deeds. Endowed, by nature, it may have 
been, with high powers, they did not suffer them to lie rot- 
ting in indolence ; but, with manful heart and strong hand, 
fulfilled their mission of labor by day and by night. Their 
works do follow them. 



LESSON LI. 

Danger of prematurely Tasking the Mental Powers of the 
Young. — A. Brigham. 

Much of the thoughtlessness of parents, regarding the 
injury they may do their children by too early cultivating 
their minds, has arisen from the mystery in which the 
science of mind has been involved, and ignorance of the 



140 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

connection between the mind and body ; for we find them 
exceedingly anxious and careful about the health of their 
children in other respects. Entirely forgetful of the brain, 
they know there is danger in exercising many other parts 
of the body too much, when they are but partially devel- 
oped. They know that caution is necessary with children 
in respect to their food, lest their delicate digestive organs 
should be injured by a too exciting and stimulating re- 
gimen. 

A parent would be greatly alarmed if his little child, by 
continued encouragement and training, had learned to eat 
as much food as a healthy adult. Such a prodigy of glut- 
tony might undoubtedly be formed. The method of ef- 
fecting it, would be somewhat like that of enabling a child 
to remember, and reason, and study, with the ability and 
constancy of an adult. Each method is dangerous, but 
probably the latter is the more so, because the brain is a 
more delicate organ than the stomach. 

The activity of most of the organs of the body can be 
very greatly increased ; they can be made to perform their 
functions for a while with unusual facility and power. I 
will dwell upon this fact a little. A child, for instance, 
may be gradually accustomed to eat and digest large quan- 
tities of stimulating animal food. I have seen an instance 
of this kind, and when I remonstrated with the parents on 
the impropriety and danger of allowing a child but two 
years old, such diet constantly, I was told that he was un- 
commonly robust ; and indeed he appeared to be in vigour- 
ous health ; but soon after this he had along inflammatory 
fever, of an unusual character for children, which I at- 
tributed at the time, to the stimulating diet allowed him. 
This diet appeared also to have an effect upon his disposi- 
tion, and confirmed the observation of Hufeland, that " in- 
fants who are accustomed to eat much animal food become 
robust, but at the same time passionate, violent and brutal." 

A child may also be made to execute surprising muscu- 
lar movements, such as walking on a rope, and other feats ; 
but these are learned only by long practice, which greatly 
developes the muscles by which the movements are execu- 
ted. From frequent and powerful action, the muscles of 
the arms of blacksmiths and boxers and boatmen, those of 
the lower limbs of dancers, and those of the faces of buf- 



PIECES FOR READING- AND DECLAMATION. 141 

foons, become strikingly enlarged when compared with the 
muscles in other parts of the body. Every employment 
n which men engage brings into relatively greater action 
particular parts of the system ; some organs are constantly 
and actively exercised, while others are condemned to in- 
activity. To make, therefore, one organ superior to an- 
other in power, it is necessary not only to exercise it fre- 
quently, but to render other organs inactive, so as not to 
draw away from it that vital energy which it requires in or- 
der to be made perfect. 

The important truth resulting from these facts, that the 
more any part of the human system is exercised, the more it is 
enlarged, and its powers increased, applies equally to all or- 
gans of the body ; it applies to the brain as well as the 
muscles. The heads of great thinkers, as has been stated, 
are wonderfully large ; and it has been ascertained by ad- 
measurement, that they frequently continue to increase un- 
til the subjects are fifty years of age, and long after the 
other portions of the system have ceased to enlarge. 
" This phenomenon," says Itard, " is not very rare, even 
in the adult, especially among men given to study, or pro- 
found meditation, or who devote themselves, without re- 
laxation, to the agitations of an unquiet and enterprising 
spirit. The head of Bonaparte, for instance, was small in 
youth, but acquired, in after life, a development nearly 
enormous." 

I would have the parent, therefore, understand, that his 
child may be made to excel in almost anything ; that by 
increasing the power of certain organs through exercise, 
he can be made a prodigy of early mental or muscular 
activity. But I would have him, at the same time, under- 
stand the conditions upon which this can be effected, and 
its consequences. I would have him fully aware, that in 
each case, unusual activity and power are produced by ex- 
traordinary development of an organ ; and especially that 
in early life, no one organ of the body can be dispropor- 
tionately exercised, without the risk of most injurious con- 
sequences. Either the over-excited and over-tasked organ 
itself will be injured for life, or the development of other 
and essential parts of the system will be arrested forever. 

From what has been said hitherto, we gather the follow- 
ing facts, which should be made the basis of all instruc- 



142 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



tion ; facts which I wish often to repeat. The brain is the 
material organ by which all the mental faculties are mani- 
fested ; it is exceedingly delicate, and but partially developed 
in childhood ; over -excitement of it when in this state, is ex- 
tremely hazardous. 



LESSON LII. 
Early History of Kentucky. — N. A. Review. 

Those now alive, who have reached the age of seventy 
years, were bom before the first white man entered Ken- 
tucky. For the English have never displayed the same 
love of discovery as the Spaniards and French, either in 
North or South America. Wherever they have fixed them- 
selves, they remain. A love of adventure, an eager curi- 
osity, a desire of change, or some like motive, had carried 
the French all over the continent, while the English colon- 
ists continued quietly within their own limits. The French 
missionaries coasted along the lakes and descended the 
Mississippi, a whole century before the Virginians began to 
cross the Alleghany ridge, to get a glimpse of the noble in- 
heritance, which had remained undisturbed for centuries, 
waiting their coming. 

It was not till the year 1767, only eight years before the 
breaking out of the revolutionary war, that John Finley, 
of North Carolina, descended into Kentucky for the pur- 
pose of hunting and trading. The feelings of wonder and 
delight experienced by this early pioneer in passing through 
the rich lands, which were filled with deer, buffaloes, and 
every kind of game, and covered with the majestic growth 
of centuries, soon communicated themselves to others. 
Like the spies, who returned from Palestine, they declar- 
ed, " The land, which we passed through to search it, is 
an exceeding good land." They compared it to parks and 
gardens, or a succession of farms stocked with cattle, and 
full of birds tame as farm-yard poultry. 

Instigated by these descriptions, in 1769, Daniel Boone, 
a man much distinguished for bravery and skill, entered 
Kentucky. And now commenced a series of enterprise 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 143 

romantic adventure, chivalric daring, and patient endur- 
ance, not surpassed in the history of modern times. Nothing 
in those voluminous tales of knight errantry, which occu- 
pied the leisure of pages and squires in old baronial days, 
or in the Waverley novels and their train of romances of the 
second class, which amuse modern gentlemen and ladies, — 
nothing in these works of imagination can exceed the real- 
ities of early Kentucky history. 

From 1769 till Wayne's victory on the Maumee in 1794, 
a period of twenty-five years, including the whole revolu- 
tionary war, the people of Kentucky were engaged in In- 
dian warfare, for life and home. Surrounded by an enemy 
far outnumbering them ; deadly in hatred, of ferocious 
cruelty, wielding the same rifle with themselves, and as 
skilful in its use, they took possession of the country, felled 
the forest, built towns, laid out roads, and changed the wil- 
derness into a garden. No man could open his cabin-door 
in the morning, without danger of receiving a rifle-bullet 
from a lurking Indian ; no woman could go out to milk the 
cows, without risk of having a scalping-knife at her fore- 
head before she returned. Many a man returned from 
hunting, only to find a smoking ruin where he had left a 
happy home with wife and children. 

But did this constant danger create a constant anxiety ] 
Did they live in terror 1 Fightings were without ; were 
fears within 1 By no means. If you talk with the survi- 
vors of those days they will tell you : " We soon came to 
think ourselves as good men as the Indians. We believed 
we were as strong as they, as good marksmen, as quick of 
sight, and as likely to see them, as they were to see us ; 
so there was no use in being afraid of them." The danger 
produced a constant watchfulness, an active intelligence, a 
prompt decision ; traits still strongly apparent in the Ken- 
tucky character. 

By the same causes, other, more amiable and social qua- 
lities, were developed. While every man was forced to de- 
pend on himself and trust to his own courage, coolness and 
skill, every man felt that he depended on his neighbour for 
help in cases where his own powers could no longer avail 
him. And no man could decline making an effort for an- 
other, when he knew that he might need a like aid before 
the sun went down. Hence we have frequent examples of 



144? NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

one man risking his life to save that of another, and of des- 
perate exertions made for the common safety of the dwell- 
ers in fort or stockade. 

Can we, then, wonder at the strong family attachments 
still existing in Kentucky ] The remembrance of hours of 
common danger and mutual sacrifice, and generous disre- 
gard of self, must have sunk deep into the hearts of those 
earnest men, the early settlers. " He saved my life at the 
risk of his own. He helped me bring back my wife from 
the Indians. He shot the man who was about to dash out 
my infant's brains." Here was a foundation for friend- 
ships, which nothing could root up. " Whispering tongues 
can poison truth;" but no tongues could do away such 
evidences of true friendship as these. No subsequent cold- 
ness, no after injury, could efface their remembrance. They 
must have been treasured up in the deepest cells of the 
heart with a sacred gratitude, a religious care. And hence, 
while Indian warfare developed all the stronger and self- 
relying faculties, it cultivated also all the sympathies, the 
confiding trust, the generous affections, which, to the pre- 
sent hour, are marked on the heart of that people's cha- 
racter. 



LESSON LIII. 
TJie Fall of Napoleon. — C. Phillips. 

I have heard before of states ruined by the visitation of 
Providence, devastated by famine, wasted by fire, over- 
come by enemies ; but never until now did I see a state 
like England, impoverished by her spoils, and conquered 
by her successes! She has fought the fight of Europe; 
she has purchased all its coinabh blood ; she has subsidized 
all its dependencies in their own cause ; she has conquer- 
ed by sea, she has conquered by land ; and here she is, af- 
ter all her vanity and all her victories, surrounded by de- 
solation, like one of the pyramids of Egypt; amid the gran- 
deur of the desert, full of magnificence and death, at once 
a trophy and a tomb ! 

The heart of any reflecting man must burn within him, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 145 

when he thinks that the war, thus sanguinary in its opera- 
tions, confessedly ruinous in its expenditure, was even still 
more odious in its principle ! It was a war avowedly un- 
dertaken for the purpose of forcing France out of her un- 
doubted right of choosing her own monarch ; a war, which 
uprooted the very foundations of the English constitution; 
which libelled the most glorious era in our national annals ; 
which declared tyranny eternal, and announced to the peo- 
ple, amid the thunder of artillery, that, no matter how 
aggrieved, their only allowable attitude was that of suppli- 
cation ; which, when it told the French reformer of 1793, 
that his defeat was just, told the British reformer of 16S8, 
his triumph was treason ! 

What else have you done % You have succeeded in de- 
throning Napoleon ; and you have dethroned a monarch, 
who, with all his imputed crimes and vices, shed a splen- 
dour around royalty too powerful for the feeble vision of 
legitimacy even to bear. He had many faults : 1 do not 
seek to palliate them. He deserted his principles : I re- 
joice that he has suffered. But still let us be generous even 
in our enmities. How grand was his march ! How mag- 
nificent his destiny ! Say what we will, Sir, he will be the 
land-mark of our times in the eyes of posterity. The goal 
of other men's speed was his starting-post. Crowns were 
his playthings ; thrones his footstool. He strode from vic- 
tory to victory. His path was " a plane of continued ele- 
vations." Surpassing the boast of the too confident Ro- 
man, he but stamped upon the earth, and, not only armed 
men, but states and dynasties, and arts and sciences, — all 
that mind could imagine, or industry produce — started up, 
the creation of enchantment. 

He has fallen. As the late Mr. Whitbread said — " You 
made him, and At' unmade himself" — his own ambition was 
his glorious conqueror. He attempted, with a sublime au- 
dacity, to grasp the fires of Heaven, and his heathen retri- 
bution has been the vulture and the rock ! 



146 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON L1V. 
God is Every Where. — Hu«n HuttoW. 

Oh ! show me where is He, 

The high and holy One, 
To whom thou bencrst the knee, 

And pray'st, " Thy will be done?" 
I hear thy voice of praise, 

And lo! no form is near; 
Thine eyes [ sec thee raise, • 

But where doth God appear] 
Oh ! teach me who is God, and where his glories shine, 
That I may kneel and pray, and call thy Father mine. 

Gaze on that arch above — 

The glittering vault admire ! 
Who taught those orbs to move? 

Who lit their ceaseless fire I 
Who imides the moon to run 

o 

In silence through the skies? 
Who bids that dawning sun 

In strength and beauty rise 1 
There view immensity ! — behold, my God is there— 
The sun, the moon, the stars, his majesty declare! 

See, where the mountains rise ; 

Where thundering torrents foam ; 
Where, veil'd in lowering skies, 

The eagle makes his home ! 
Where savage nature dwells 

My God is present too — 
Through all her wildest dells 
His footsteps I pursue. 
He rear'd those giant cliffs — supplies that dashing stream- 
Provides the daily food, which stills the wild bird's scream 

Look on that world of waves, 

Where finny nations glide ; 
Within whose deep, dark caves, 

The ocean-monsters hide ! 
His power is sovereign there, 

To raise — to quell the storm ; 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 14>7 

The depths his bounty share, 
Where sport the scaly swarm : 
Tempests and calms obey the same almighty voice, 
Which rules the earth and skies, and bids the world rejoice 

Nor eye nor thought can soar 

Where moves not he in might ; — 
He swells the thunder's roar, 

He sjDreads the wings of night. 
Oh! praise the works divine ! 

Bow down thy soul in prayer ! 
Nor ask for other sign, 

That God is every where — 
The viewless Spirit he — immortal, holy, bless'd— • 
Oh ! worship him in faith, and find eternal rest ! 



LESSON LV. 
The Destruction of Sennacherib. ,-^Byron. 

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, 
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; 
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, 
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, 
That host with their banners at sunset were seen ; 
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, 
That host., on the morrow, lay wither'd and strown. 

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, 
And breathed on the face of the foe, as hepass'd; 
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, 
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still. 

And there lay the steed, with his nostril all wide, 
But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride ; 
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, 
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 
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148 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, 
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mailj 
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, 
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their, wail ; 
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; 
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, 
Hath melted, like snow, in the glance of the Lord. 



LESSON LVI. 
i 

Hymn before Sun-rise, in the Yah of Chamouny. — Cole- 
ridge. 

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star 
In his steep course ? — so long he seems to pause 
On thy bald, awful front, O sovereign Blanc ! 
The Arvc and Arveiron, at thy base 
Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful form, 
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, 
How silently ! Around thee and above, 
Deep is the air, and dark ; substantial black, 
An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it, 
As with a wedge ! But, when I look again, 
It is thine own calm home, thy chrystal shrine, 
Thy habitation from eternity. 

dread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee, 
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, 

Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer, 

1 worshipped the Invisible alone. 

Yet, like some sweet, beguiling melody, 
So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, 
Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought- 
Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy, — 
Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, 
Into the mighty vision passing — there, 
As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 14-9 

Awake, my soul ! Not only passive praise 
Thou owest ; not alone these swelling tears, 
Mute thanks, and silent ecstasy. Awake, 
Voice of sweet song ! Awake, my heart, awake ! 
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn. 

Thou, first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale ! 
Oh ! struggling with the darkness all the night, 
And visited all night by troops of stars, 
Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink, — 
Companion of the morning star at dawn, 
Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn 
Co-herald, wake ! O wake ! and utter praise ! 
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth 1 
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light 1 
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams 1 

And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad ! 
Who called you forth from night and utter death, 
From dark and icy caverns called you forth, 
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, 
Forever shattered, and the same forever ] 
Who gave you your invulnerable life, 
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, 
Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam 1 
And who commanded — and the silence came — 
" Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest ]" 

Ye ice-falls ! ye, that, from the mountain's brow, 
Adown enormous ravines slope amain — 
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, 
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge ! 
Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! 
Who made you glorious, as the gates of heaven 
Beneath the keen full moon 1 Who bade the sun 
Clothe you with rainbows % Who, with living flowers 
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet 1 — 
" God !" let the torrents, like a shout of nations, 
Answer ; and let the ice-plains echo, " God !" 
" God !" sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice ! 
Ye pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds ! 
And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, 
And, in their perilous fall, shall thunder " God !" 
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150 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Ye living flowers, that skirt the eternal frost ! 
Ye wild goats, sporting round the eagle's nest ! 
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm ! 
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouck ! 
Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! 
Utter forth " God !" and fill the hills with praise! 



Thou, too, hoar mount ! with thy sky-pointing peaks, 
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, 
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene, 
Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast — 
Thou, too, again, stupendous mountain ! thou 
That, — as I raise my head, awhile bowed low 
In adoration, upward from thy base 
Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, — 
Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud, 
To rise before me, — rise, O ever rise ! 
Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth. 
Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hills, 
Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, 
Great hierarch, tell thou the silent sky, 
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, 
" Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. 



LESSON LVII. 
Byron and Jiis Poetry. — T. B. Macaplay. 

Never had any writer so vast a command of the whole 
eloquence of scorn, misanthropy, and despair. That Ma- 
rah was never dry. No art could sweeten, no draughts 
could exhaust, its perennial waters of bitterness. Never 
was there such variety in monotony as that of Byron. From 
maniac laughter to piercing lamentation, there was not a 
single note of human anguish of which he was not master. 
Year after year, and month after month, he continued to 
repeat, that to be wretched is the destiny of all ; that to be 
eminently wretched is the destiny of the eminent; that all 
the desires by which we are cursed lead alike to misery j 
if they are not gratified, to the misery of disappointment; 






PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 151 

if they are gratified, to the misery of satiety. His princi- 
pal heroes are men who have arrived by different roads at 
the same goal of despair, who are sick of life, who are at 
war with society, who are supported in their anguish only 
by an unconquerable pride, resembling that of Prometheus 
on the rock, or of Satan in the burning marl; who can mas- 
ter their agonies by the force of their will, and who, to the 
last, defy the whole power of earth and heaven. He al- 
ways described himself as a man of the same kind with his 
favourite creations, as a man whose heart had been with- 
ered, whose capacity for happiness was gone, and could 
not be restored; but whose invincible spirit dared the 
worst that could befall him here or hereafter. 

How much of this morbid feeling sprang from an origin- 
al disease of mind, how much from real misfortune, how 
much from the nervousness of dissipation, how much of it 
was fanciful, how much of it was merely affected, it is im- 
possible for us, and would probably have been impossible 
for the most intimate friends of Lord Byron, to decide. 
Whether there ever existed, or can ever exist, a person 
answering to the description which he gave of himself, 
may be doubted : but that he was not such a person, is be- 
yond all doubt. It is ridiculous to imagine that a man, 
whose mind was really imbued with scorn of his fellow- 
creatures, would have published three or four books every 
year to tell them so ; or that a man, who could say with 
truth that he neither sought sympathy nor needed it, would 
have admitted all Europe to hear his farewell to his wife, 
and his blessings on his child. In the second canto of 
Childe Harold, he tells us that he is insensible to fame and 
obloquy : 

"111 may such contest now the spirit move, 
Which heeds nor keen reproof nor partial praise." 

Yet we know, on the best evidence, that a day or two be- 
fore he published these lines, he was greatly, indeed child- 
ishly, elated, by the compliments paid to his maiden speech 
in the House of Lords. 

We are far, however, from thinking that his sadness was 
altogether feigned. He was naturally a man of great sen- 
sibility ; he had been ill-educated ; his feelings had been 
early exposed to sharp trials ; he had been crossed in his 
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152 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

boyish love; lie had been mortified by the failure of hia 
first literary efforts ; he was straitened in pecuniary cir- 
cumstances ; he was unfortunate in his domestic relations ; 
the public treated him with cruel injustice; his health and 
spirits suffered from his dissipated habits of life; he was, 
on the whole, an unhappy man. He early discovered that, 
by parading his unhappiness before the multitude, he exci- 
ted an unrivalled interest. The world gave him every en- 
couragement to talk about his mental sufferings. The ef- 
fect which his first confessions produced, induced him to 
affect much that he did not feel ; and the affectation pro- 
bably reacted on his feelings. How far the character in 
which he exhibited himself was genuine, and how far the- 
atrical, would probably have puzzled himself to say. 

What our grandchildren may think of the character of 
Lord Byron, as exhibited in his poetry, we will not pre 
tend to guess. It is certain, that the interest which he ex- 
cited during his life, is without a parallel in literary histo- 
ry. The feeling with which young readers of poetry re- 
garded him, can be conceived only by those who have ex- 
perienced it. To people who are unacquainted with 
real calamity, " nothing is so dainty sweet as lovely me- 
lancholy." This faint image of sorrow has in all ages been 
considered by young gentlemen as an agreeable excite- 
ment. Old gentlemen and middle-aged gentlemen have so 
many real causes of sadness, that they are rarely inclined 
" to be as sad as night, only for wantonness." Indeed, they 
want the power almost as much as the inclination. We 
know very few persons engaged in active life, who, even 
if they were to procure stools to be melancholy upon, and 
were to sit down with all the premeditation of Master Ste- 
phen, would be able to enjoy much of what somebody calls 
the " ecstasy of wo." 

Among the large class of young persons whose reading 
is almost entirely confined to works of imagination, the pop- 
ularity of Lord Byron was unbounded. They bought pic- 
tures of him, they treasured up the smallest relics of him ; 
they learned his poems by heart, and did their best to 
write like him, and to look like him. Many of them prac- 
tised at the glass, in the hope of catching the curl of the up- 
per lip, and the scowl of the brow, which appear in some of 
his portraits. A few discarded their neckcloths in imita 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 153 

tion of their great leader. For some years, the Minerva 
press sent forth no novel without a mysterious, unhappy, 
Lara-like peer. The number of hopeful undergraduates 
and medical students who became things of dark imagin- 
ings, on whom the freshness of the heart ceased to fall like 
dew, whose passions had consumed themselves to dust, and 
to whom the relief of tears was denied, passes all calcula- 
tion. This was not the worst. There was created in the 
minds of many of these enthusiasts, a pernicious and absurd 
association between intellectual power and moral depravi- 
ty. From the poetry of Lord Byron they drew a system 
of ethics, compounded of misanthropy and voluptuousness. 
This affectation has passed away; and a few more years 
will destroy whatever yet remains of that magical potency 
which once belonged to the name of Byron. To us he is 
still a man, young, noble, and unhappy. To our children 
he will be merely a writer; and their impartial judgment 
will appoint his place among writers, without regard to his 
rank or to his private history*. That his poetry will un- 
dergo a severe sifting ; that much of what has been admir- 
ed by his contemporaries will be rejected as worthless, we 
have little doubt. But we have as little doubt, that, after 
the closest scrutiny, there will still remain much that can 
only perish with the English language. 



LESSON LVIII. 
Origin of tlie French Revolution. — Channing. 

Communities fall by the vices of the great, not the small. 
The French Revolution is perpetually sounded in our ears, 
as a warning against the lawlessness of the people. But 
whence came this revolution 1 Who were the regicides 1 
Who beheaded Louis XVI. ? You tell me the Jacobins ; 
^ut history tells a different tale. I will show you the be- 
headers of Louis XVI. They were Louis XIV., and the 
Regent who followed him, and Louis XV. These brought 
their descendant to the guillotine. 

The priesthood, who invoked the edict of Nantz, and 
drove from France the skill and industry, and virtue and pi- 
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154 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

ety, which were the sinews of her strength ; the statesmen 
who intoxicated Louis XIV. with the scheme of universal 
empire ; the profligate, prodigal, shameless Orleans ; and 
the still more brutalized Louis the XV., with his court of 
panders and prostitutes ; these made the nation bankrupt, 
broke asunder the bond of loyalty, and overwhelmed the 
throne and altar in ruins. We hear of the horrors of the 
Revolution ; but in this as in other things, we recollect the 
effect without thinking of the guiltier cause. 

The revolution was indeed a scene of horror ; but when 
I look back on the reigns which preceded it, and which 
made Paris almost one great stew and gaming house, and 
when I see altar and throne desecrated by a licentiousness 
unsurpassed in any former age, I look on scenes as shock- 
ing to the calm and searching eye of reason and virtue, as 
the tenth of August and the massacres of September. 
Bloodshed is indeed a terrible spectacle ; but there are 
other things almost as fearful as blood. There are crimes 
that do not make us start and turn pale like the guillotine, 
but are deadlier in their workings. 

God forbid, that I should say a word to weaken the thrill 
of horror, with which we contemplate the outrages of the 
French Revolution. But when I hear that revolution 
quoted to frighten us from reform, to show us the danger 
of lifting up the depressed and ignorant mass, I must ask 
whence it came 1 and the answer is, that it came from the 
intolerable weight of misgovernment and tyranny, from 
the utter want of culture among the mass of the people, 
and from a corruption of the great, too deep to be purged 
away except by destruction. 

I am almost compelled to remember, that the people, in 
this their singular madness, wrought far less woe than 
kings and priests have wrought, as a familiar thing, in all 
ages of the world. All the murders of the French Revo- 
lution did not amount, I think, by one-fifth, to those of the 
" Massacre of St. Bartholomew." The priesthood and the 
throne, in one short night and day, shed more blood, and 
that the best blood of France, than was spilled by Jacob- 
inism and all other forms of violence during the whole re- 
volution. Even the atheism and infidelity of France were 
due chiefly to a licentious priesthood and a licentious court. 
It was religion, so called, that dug her own grave. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 155 

In offering this plea for the multitude, I have no desire 
to transfer to the multitude uncontrolled political power. 
I look at power in all hands with jealousy. I wish neither 
rich nor poor to be my masters. What I wish is, the im- 
provement, the elevation of all classes, and especially of 
the most numerous class, because the most numerous, be- 
cause the many are mankind, and because no social pro- 
gress can be hoped but from influences which penetrate 
and raise the mass of men. The mass must not be confin- 
ed and kept down through a vague dread of revolutions. 
A social order requiring such a sacrifice, would be too 
dearly bought. No order should satisfy us, but that which 
is in harmony with universal improvement and freedom. 



LESSON LIX 

The Might with the Right. — Anonymous. 

May every year but draw more near 

The time when strife shall cease, 
And truth and love all hearts shall move 

To live in joy and peace. 
Now sorrow reigns, and earth complains, 

For folly still her power maintains ; 
But the day shall yet appear 
When the might with the right and the truth shall be , 
And come what there may, to stand in the way, 
That day the world shall see. 

Let good men ne'er of truth despair, 

Though humble efforts fail ; 
We'll give not o'er, until once more 

The righteous cause prevail. 
In vain and long, enduring wrong, 

The weak may strive against the strong; 
But the day shall yet appear, 
When the might with the right and the truth shall be j 
And come what there may, to stand in the way, 
That day the world shall see. 
E6 



156 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Though interest pleads that noble deeds 
The world will not regard, — 

To noble minds, whom duty binds, 
No sacrifice is hard. 

The brave and true may seem but few, 

But hope keeps better things in view; 

And the day shall yet appear 
When the might with the right and the truth shall b* 
And come what there may, to stand in the way, 

That day the world shall see. 



LESION LX. 
Art. — Charles Sprague. 

When, from the sacred garden driven, 

Man fled before his Maker's wrath, 
An angel left her place in heaven, 

And cross'd the wanderer's sunless path. 
'Twas Art ! sweet Art ! new radiance broke 

Where her light foot flew o'er the ground, 
And thus with seraph voice she spoke : 

" The curse a blessing shall be found." 

She led him through the trackless wild, 

Where noontide sunbeam never blazed ; 
The thistle shrank, the harvest smiled, 

And Nature gladden' & as she gazed. 
Earth's thousand tribes of living things, 

At Art's command to him are given; 
The village grows, the city springs, 

And point their spires of faith to heaven. 

He rends the oak — and bids it ride, 

To guard the shores its beauty graced ; 
He smites the rock — upheaved in pride, 

See towers of strength and domes of taste ! 
Earth's teeming caves their wealth reveal, 

Fire bears his banner on the wave, 
He bids the mortal poison heal, 

And leaps triumphant o'er the grave. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 157 

He plucks the pearls that stud the deep, 

Admiring beauty's lap to fill ; 
He breaks the stubborn marble's sleep, 

And mocks his own Creator's skill. 
"With thoughts that fill his glowing soul, 

He bids the ore illume the page, 
And, proudly scorning Time's control, 

Commerces with an unborn age. 

In fields of air he writes his name, 

And treads the chambers of the sky, 
He reads the stars, and grasps the flame 

That quivers round the throne on high. 
In war renown'd, in peace sublime, 

He moves in greatness and in grace ; 
His power, subduing space and time, 

Links realm to realm, and race to race. 



LESSON LXT. 
Old Ironsides* — O. W. Holmes. 

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down ! 

Long has it waved on high, 
And many an eye has danced to see 

That banner in the sky; 
Beneath it rang the battle-shout, 

And burst the cannon's roar; 
The meteor of the ocean air » 

Shall sweep the clouds no more ! 

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, 

Where knelt the vanquish'd foe, 
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, 

And waves were white below, 
No more shall feel the victor's tread, 

Or know the conquer'd knee; 
The harpies of the shore shall pluck 

The eagle of the sea ! 



* Written when it was proposed to break up the frigate Constitution, 
or to convert her into a receiving ship, as unfit for service. 



158 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Oh, better that her shatter'd hulk 

Should sink beneath the wave ! 
Her thunders shook the mighty deep, 

And there should be her grave ! 
Nail to the mast her holy flag, 

Set every threadbare sail, 
And give her to the god of storms, — 

The lightning and the gale ! 



LESSON LXII. 
Our Obligations as American Citizens. — D. Webster. 

Let us indulge an honest exultation in the conviction 
of the benefit, which the example of our country has pro- 
duced, and is likely to produce, on human freedom and 
human happiness. And let us endeavour to comprehend, 
in all its magnitude, and to feel, in all its importance, the 
part assigned to us in the great drama of human affairs. 
We are placed at the head of the system of representa 
tive and popular governments. Thus far our example 
shows, that such governments are compatible, not only with 
respectability and power, but with repose, with peace, 
with security of personal rights, with good laws, and a just 
administration. 

We are not propagandists. Wherever other systems 
are preferred, either as being thought better in themselves, 
or as better suited to existing condition, we leave the pre- 
ference to be enjoyed. Our history hitherto proves, how- 
ever, that the popular form is practicable, and that with 
wisdom and knowledge men may govern themselves ; and 
the duty incumbent on us is, to preserve the consistency of 
this cheering example, and take care that nothing may 
weaken its authority with the world. If, in our case, the 
Representative system ultimately fail, popular governments 
must be pronounced impossible. No combination of cir- 
cumstances more favourable to the experiment, can ever be 
expected to occur. The last hopes of mankind, therefore 
rest with us ; and if it should be proclaimed, that our ex 
ample had become an argument against the experiment, 
the knell of popular liberty would be sounded throughout 
the earth. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 159 

These are excitements to duty ; but tliey are not sug- 
gestions of doubt. Our history and our condition, all that 
is gone before us, and all that surrounds us, authorise the 
belief, that popular governments, though subject to occa- 
sional variations, perhaps not always for the better, inform, 
may yet, in their general character, be as durable and per- 
manent as other systems. We know, indeed, that, in our 
country, any other is impossible. The principle of Free 
Governments adheres to the American soil. It is bedded 
in it ; immovable as its mountains. 

And let the sacred obligations which have devolved on 
this generation, and on us, sink deep into our hearts 
Those are daily dropping from among us, who established 
our liberty and our government. The great trust now de- 
scends to new hands. Let us apply ourselves to that 
which is presented to us, as our appropriate object. We 
can win no laurels in a war for Independence. Earlier 
and worthier hands have "fathered them all. Nor are there 
places for us by the side of Solon, and Alfred, and other 
founders of states. Our fathers have filled them. But 
there remains to us a great duty of defence and preserva- 
tion ; and there is opened to us, also, a noble pursuit, to 
which the spirit of the times strongly invites us. 

Our proper business is improvement. Let our age be 
the age of improvement. In a day of peace, let us ad- 
vance the arts of peace and the works of peace. Let us 
develope the resources of our land, call forth its powers, 
build up its institutions, promote all its great interests, and 
see whether we also, in our day and generation, may not 
perform something worthy to be remembered. Let us cul- 
tivate a true spirit of union and harmony. In pursuing the 
great objects, which our condition points out to us, let us 
act under a settled conviction, and an habitual feeling, that 
these twenty-four states are one country. Let our concep- 
tions be enlarged to the circle of our duties. Let us ex- 
tend our ideas over the whole of the vast field in which 
we are called to act. Let our object be, our country, 

OUR WHOLE COUNTRY, AND NOTHING BUT OUR COUNTRY. 

And, by the blessing of G-od, may that country itself be- 
come a vast and splendid Monument, not of oppression 
and terror, but of Wisdom, of Peace, and of Liberty, 
upon which the world may gaze, with admiration, forever ! 



160 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



LESSON LXIII. 



In Favour of Permitting the Return of tlie British Refu- 
gees. — Patrick Henry. 

Cast your eyes, Sir, over this extensive country — ob- 
serve the salubrity of your climate, the variety and ferti- 
lity of your soil — and see that soil intersected in every 
quarter by bold, navigable streams, flowing to the east and 

to the west, as if the finder of Heaven were marking out 

... . 

the course of your settlements, inviting you to enterprise, 

and pointing the way to wealth. Sir, you are destined, at 
some time or other, to become a great agricultural and 
commercial people ; the only question is, whether you 
choose to reach this point by slow gradations, and at some 
distant period — lingering on through a long and sickly 
minority, subjected, meanwhile, to the machinations, in- 
sults, and oppressions of enemies, foreign and domestic, 
without sufficient strength to resist and chastise them — or 
whether you choose rather to rush at once, as it were, to 
the full enjoyment of those high destinies, and be able to 
cope, single handed, with the proudest oppressor of the 
old world. 

If you prefer the latter course, as I trust you do, encour- 
age emigration — encourage the husbandmen, the mechan- 
ics, the merchants of the old world, to come and settle in 
this land of promise — make it the home of the skilful, the 
industrious, the fortunate and hapj:>y, as well as the asylum 
of the distressed — fill up the measure of your population 
as speedily as you can, by the means which Heaven hath 
placed in your power — and I venture to prophesy there 
are those now living who will see this favoured land 
amongst the most powerful on earth — able, Sir, to take care 
of herself, without resorting to that policy which is always 
so dangerous, though sometimes unavoidable, of calling in 
foreign aid. Yes, Sir — they will see her great in arts and 
in arms — her golden harvests waving: over fields of im- 
measurable extent — her commerce penetrating the most 
distant seas, and her cannon silencing the vain boasts of 
those who now proudly affect to rule the waves. 

But, Sir, you must have men — you cannot get along 
without them — those heavy forests of valuable timber, un 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 161 

der which your lands are groaning-, must be cleared away 
— those vast riches which cover the face of your soil, as 
well as those which lie hid in its bosom, are to be devel- 
oped and gathered only by the skill and enterprise of men 
— your timber, Sir, must be worked up into ships, to 
transport the productions of the soil from which it has been 
cleared — then, you must have commercial men and com- 
mercial capital, to take off your productions, and find the 
best markets for them abroad — your great want, Sir, is the 
want of men ; and these you must have, and will have 
speedily, if you are wise. 

Do you ask how you are to get them ] — Open your 
doors, Sir, and they will come in ! The population of the 
old world is full to overflowing — that population is ground, 
too, by the oppressions of the governments under which 
they live. Sir, they are already standing on tiptoe upon 
their native shores, and looking to your coasts with a wish- 
ful and longing eye — they see here a land blessed with na- 
tural and political advantages, which are not equalled by 
those of any other country upon earth — a land on which a 
gracious Providence hath emptied the horn of abundance — 
a land over which Peace hath now stretched forth her white 
wings, and where Content and Plenty lie down at every 
door! 

Sir, they see something still more attractive than all this 
— they see a land in which Liberty hath taken up her 
abode — that Liberty, whom they had considered as a fabled 
goddess, existing only in the fancies of poets — they see her 

here a real divinity her altars rising on every hand 

throughout these happy states — her glories chaunted by 
three millions of tongues — and the whole region smiling 
under her blessed influence. Sir, let but this our celestial 
goddess, Liberty, stretch forth her fair hand toward the 
people of the old world — tell them to come, and bid them 
welcome — and you will see them pouring in from the 
north — from the south — from the east, and from the west — 
your wildernesses will be cleared and settled — your deserts 
will smile — your ranks will be filled — and you will soon be 
in a condition to defy the powers of any adversary. 

But gentlemen object to any accession from Great Bri- 
tain — and particularly to the return of the British refugees. 
Sir, I feel no objection to the return of those deluded peo- 



162 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



pie. They have, to be sure, mistaken their own interests 
most wofnlly, and most wofully have they suffered the pun- 
ishment due to their offences. But the relations which we 
bear to them and to their native country are now changed 
— their king hath acknowledged our independence — the 
quarrel is over — peace hath returned, and found us a free 
people. 

Let us have the magnanimity, Sir, to lay aside our anti- 
pathies and prejudices, and consider the subject in a politi- 
cal light. Those are an enterprising, moneyed people — 
they will be serviceable in taking off the^urplus produce 
of our lands, and supplying us with necessaries, during the 
infant state of our manufactures. Even if they be inimi- 
cal to us in point of feeling and principle, I can see no ob- 
jection, in a political view, in making them tributary to our 
advantage. And as I have no prejudices to prevent my 
making this use of them, so, Sir, I have no fear of any mis- 
chief that they can do us. Afraid of them ! — what, Sir, 
shall we, who have laid the proud British lion at our feet. 
now be afraid of his whelps ? 



LESSON LXIV. 
To a Child. — Anonymous. 

Things of high import sound I in thine ears, 

Dear child, though now thou may'st not feel their power, 

Ye hoard them up, and in thy coming years 

Forget them not ; and when earth's tempests lower, 

A talisman unto thee shall they be, 

To give thy weak arm strength, to make thy dim eye see. 

Seek truth — that pure celestial Truth, whose birth 
Was in the heaven of heavens, clear, sacred, shrined 

In reason's light. Not oft she visits earth ; 
But her majestic port, the willing mind, 

Through faith, may sometimes see. Give her thy soul, 

Nor faint, though error's surges loudly 'gainst thee roll, 

Be free — not chiefly from the iron chain, 
But from the one which passion forges ; be 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 163 

The master of thyself ! If lost, regain 

The rule o'er chance, sense, circumstance. Be free ! 
Trample thy proud lusts proudly 'neath thy feet, 
And stand erect, as for a heaven-born one is meet. 

Seek virtue. Wear her armour to the fight ; 

Then, as a wrestler gathers strength from strife, 
Shalt thou be nerved to a more vigourous might 

By each contending, turbulent ill of life. 
Seek Virtue ; she alone is all divine ; 
And, having found, be strong in God's own strength and thine. 

Truth — freedom — virtue — these, dear child, have power, 

If rightly cherished, to uphold, sustain, 
And bless thy spirit, in its darkest hour ; 

Neglect them — thy celestial gifts are vain — 
In dust shall thy weak wing be dragged and soiled ; 
Thy soul be crushed 'neath gauds for which it basely toiled. 



LESSON LXV. 
Eulogistic of Adams and Jefferson. — Edward Everett. 

They have gone to the companions of their cares, of 
their toils. It is well with them. The treasures of Ame- 
rica are now in Heaven. How long the list of our good, 
and wise, and brave, assembled there ! how few remain 
with us ! There is our Washington; and those who fol- 
lowed him in their country's confidence, are now met to- 
gether with him, and all that illustrious company. 

The faithful marble may preserve their image ; the en- 
graven brass may proclaim their worth ; but the humblest 
sod of Independent America, with nothing but the dew- 
drops of the morning to gild it, is a prouder mausoleum 
than kings or conquerors can boast. The country is their 
monument. Its independence is their epitaph. 

But not to their country is their praise limited. The 
whole earth is the monument of illustrious men. Wherev- 
er an agonizing people shall perish, in a generous convul- 
sion, for want of a valiant arm and a fearless heart, they 
will cry, in the last accents of despair ; Oh, for a Washing- 



164 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

ton, an Adams, a Jefferson ! Wherever a regenerated 
nation, starting up in its might, shall burst the links of steel 
that enchain it, the praise of our Fathers shall be the pre- 
lude of their triumphal song. 

The contemporary and successive generations of men 
will disappear. In the long lapse of ages, the tribes of 
America, like those of Greece and Rome, may pass away. 
The fabric of American Freedom, like all things human, 
however firm and fair, may crumble into dust. But the 
cause in which these our Fathers shone is immortal. They 
did that, to which no age, no people of reasoning men, can 
be indifferent. 

Their eulogy will be uttered in other languages, when 
those we speak, like us who speak them, shall all be for- 
gotten. And when the great account of humanity shall be 
closed at the throne of Grod, in the bright list of his child- 
ren, who best adorned and served it, shall be found the 
names of our Adams and our Jefferson. 



LESSON LXVI. 

bi Commemoration of tlic Completion of the Bunker-Hill 
Monument. — D. Webster. 

This column stands on Union. I know not that it might 
not keep its position, if the American Union, in the mad 
conflict of human passions, and in the strife of parties and 
factions, should be broken up and destroyed. I know not 
that it would totter and fall to the earth, and mingle its 
fragments with the fragments of Liberty and the Constitu- 
tion, when State should be separated from State, and fac- 
tion and dismemberment obliterate forever all the hopes 
of the founders of our Republic, and the great inheritance 
of their children. It might stand. But who, from beneath 
the weight of mortification and shame, that would oppress 
him, could look up to behold it 1 For my part, should I 
live to such a time, I shall avert my eyes from it for ever. 

It is not as a mere military encounter of hostile armies, 
that the battle of Bunker Hill founds its principal claim to 
attention. Yet, even as a mere battle, there were circum- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 165 

stances attending- it, extraordinary in character, and en 
titling it to peculiar distinction. It was fought on this 
eminence ; in the neighbourhood of yonder city ; in the 
presence of more spectators than there were combatants 
in the conflict. Men, women and children, from every 
commanding position, were gazing at the battle, and look- 
ing for its result with all the eagerness natural to those 
who knew that the issue was fraught with the deepest con- 
sequences to them. Yet, on the sixteenth of June, 1775, 
there was nothing around this hill but verdure and culture. 
There was, indeed, the note of awful preparation in 
Boston. There was the provincial army at Cambridge 
with its right flank resting on Dorchester, and its left on 
Chelsea. But here all was peace. Tranquillity reigned 
around. 

On the seventeenth, every thing was changed. On yonder 
height had arisen, in the night, a redoubt in which Pres- 
cott commanded. Perceived by the enemy at dawn, it 
was immediately cannonaded from the floating batteries 
in the river, and the opposite shore. And then ensued the 
hurry of preparation in Boston, and soon the troops of 
Britain embarked in the attempt to dislodge the eolonists. 

I suppose it would be difficult, in a military point of view, 
to ascribe to the leaders on either side, any just motive for 
the conflict which followed. On the one hand it could not 
have been very important to the Americans to attempt to 
hem the British within the town by advancing one single 
post a quarter of a mile ; while on the other hand, if the 
British found it essential to dislodge the American troops, 
they had it in their power, at no expense of life. By 
moving up their ships and batteries, they could have com- 
pletely cut off all communication with the main land over 
the neck, and the forces in the redoubt would have been 
reduced to a state of famine in forty-eight hours. 

But that was not the day for such considerations on 
either side ! Both parties were anxious to try the strength 
of their arms. The pride of England would not permit 
the rebels, as she termed them, to defy her to the teeth ; 
and, without for a moment calculating the cost, the British 
general determined to destroy the fort immediately. On 
the other side, Prescott and his gallant followers longed 
and thirsted foi a conflict. They wished it, and wished it 



166 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

at once. And this is the true secret of the movements on 
this hill. 

I will not attempt to describe the battle. The cannona- 
ding — the landing of the British — their advance — the 
coolness with which the charge was met — the repulse — ■ 
the second attack — the second repulse — the burning of 
Charlestown — and, finally, the closing assault, and the 
slow retreat of the Americans — the history of all these is 
familiar. 

But the consequences of the battle of Bunker Hill are 
greater than those of any conflict between the hostile 
armies of European powers. It was the first great battle 
of the Revolution; and' not only the first blow, but the 
blow which determined the contest. It did not, indeed, 
put an end to the war, but in the then existing hostile 
feeling, the difficulties could only be referred to the arbi- 
tration of the sword. And one thing is certain ; that 
after the New England troops had shown themselves able 
to face and repulse the regulars, it was decided that peace 
could never be established but upon the basis of the inde- 
pendence of the colonies. When the sun of that day went 
down, the event of independence was certain ! When 
Washington heard of the battle, he inquired if the militia 
had stood the fire of the re<nilars ] And when told that 

o 

they had not only stood the fire, but reserved their own 
till the enemy was within eight rods, and then poured it 
in with tremendous effect — " Then," exclaimed he, " the 
liberties of the country are safe !" 



LESSON LXVII. 

Ode to the Saviour. — Milman. 

For thou wert born of woman ! thou didst come, 
Oh, Holiest ! to this world of sin and gloom, 
Not in thy dread omnipotent array ; 
And not by thunders strewed 
Was thy tempestuous road ; 
Nor indignation burned before thee on thy way. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 167 

But Thee, a soft and naked child, 

Thy mother undefiled 
In the rude manger laid to rest 

From off her virgin breast. 

The heavens were not commanded to prepare 
A gorgeous canopy of golden air, 

Norstoop'd their lamps the enthroned fires on high: 
A single silent star 
Came wandering from afar, 
Gliding unchecked and calm along the liquid sky ; 
The eastern sages leading on, 

As at a kingly throne, 
To lay their gold and odours sweet 
Before thy infant feet. 

The earth and ocean were not hush'd to hear 
Bright harmony from every starry sphere ; 
Nor at thy presence brake the voice of song 
From all the cherub-choirs, 
And seraphs' burning lyres, 
Pour'd thro' the host of heaven the charmed clouds along. 
One angel-troop the strain began ; 

Of all the race of man 
By simple shepherds heard alone 
That soft Hosanna's tone. 



And when thou didst depart, no car of flame 
To bear Thee hence in lambent radiance came ; 

Nor visible angels mourn'd with drooping plumes $ . 
Nor didst Thou mount on high 
From fatal Calvary, 
With all thy own redeem'd, outbursting from their tombs, 
For Thou didst bear away from earth, 

But one of human birth, 
The dying felon by thy side, to be 
In Paradise with Thee. 



Nor o'er thy cross the clouds of vengeance brake ; 
A little while the conscious earth did shake, 



168 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

At that foul deed by her fierce children done ; 
A few dim hours of day 
The world in darkness lay, 
Then bask'd in bright repose beneath the cloudless sun. 
While Thou didst sleep within the tomb 

Consenting to thy doom ; 
Ere yet the white-robed angel shone 
Upon the sealed stone. 

And when Thou didst arise, Thou didst not stand 
With devastation in thy red right hand, 

Plaguing the guilty city's murderous crew .' 
But Thou didst haste to meet 
Thy mother's coming feet, 
And bear the words of peace unto the faithful few. 
Then calmly, slowly, didst thou rise 

Into thy native skies, 
Thy human form dissolved on high 
In its own radiancy. 



LESSON LXVIIT. 
The Ocean. — Barry Cornwall. 

O thou, vast Ocean ! ever sounding Sea ! 
Tnou symbol of a dread immensity ! 
Thou thing that windest round the solid world 
Like a huge animal, which downward hurled 
From the black clouds, lies weltering and alone 
Lashing and writhing till its strength be gone ! 
Thy voice is like the thunder, and thy sleep 
Is as a giant's slumber, loud and deep. 
Thou speakest in the east and in the west 
At once, and on thy heavily-laden breast 
Fleets come and go, and shapes that have no life 
Or motion, yet are moved, and meet in strife. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 169 

The earth hath nought of this : no chance nor change 

Ruffles its surface, and no spirits dare 

Give answer to the tempest-waken air ; 

But o'er its wastes the weakly tenants range 

At will, and wound its bosom as they go. 

Ever the same, it hath no ebb, no flow ; 

But to their stated rounds the seasons come, 

And pass, like visions, to their viewless home, 

And come again and vanish ; the young spring 

Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming, 

And winter always winds his sullen horn 

When the wild autumn, with a look forlorn 

Dies in his stormy manhood ; and the skies 

Weep, and flowers sicken when the summer flies. 

Thou only, terrible Ocean ! hast a power, 

A will, a voice, and in thy wrathful hour, 

When thou dost lift thine anger to the clouds, 

A fearful and magnificent beauty shrouds 

Thy broad, green forehead. If thy waves be driven 

Backwards and forwards, by the shifting wind, 

How quickly dost thou thy great strength unbind, 

And stretch thine arms, and war at once with heaven. 



Thou trackless and immeasurable Main ! 

On thee no record ever lived again 

To meet the hand that writ it : line nor lead 

Hath ever fathomed thy profoundest deeps, 

Where, haply, the huge monster swells and sleeps, 

King of his watery limit, who, 'tis said, 

Can move the mighty Ocean into storm — 

Oh ! wonderful thou art, great element ; 

And fearful in thy spleeny humours bent, 

And lovely in repose : thy summer form 

Is beautiful, and when thy silver waves 

Make music in earth's dark and winding caves, 

I love to wander on thy pebbled beach 

Marking the sunlight at the evening hour, 

And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach—- 

'* Eternity, eternity, and power " 



170 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON LXIX. 

Fulton and His Invention. — Mr. Justice Story. 

I myself have heard the illustrious inventor of the 
steamboat relate, in an animated and affecting manner, the 
history of his labours and discouragements. When, said 
he, I was building my first steamboat at New York, the 
project was viewed by the public, either with indifference 
or with contempt, as a visionary scheme. My friends, in- 
deed, were civil, but they were shy. They listened with 
patience to my explanations, but with a settled cast of 
incredulity on their countenances. I felt the full force of 
the lamentation of the poet, 

" Truths would you teach, to save a sinking land, 
All shun, none aid you, and few understand." 

As I had occasion to pass daily to and from the building 
yard, while my boat was in progress, I have often loitered 
unknown near the idle groups of strangers, gathering in 
little circles, and heard various inquiries as to the object of 
this new vehicle. The language was uniformly that of 
scorn, or sneer, or ridicule. The loud laugh often rose at 
my expense ; the dry jest, the wise calculation of losses 
and expenditures, the dull but endless repetition of the 
" Fulton Folly." Never did a single encouraging remark, 
a bright hope, or a warm wish, cross my path. Silence 
itself was but politeness, veiling its doubts, or hiding its 
reproaches. 

At length the day arrived, when the experiment was to 
be put into operation. To me it was a most trying and 
interesting occasion. I invited many friends to go on 
board, to witness the first successful trip. Many of them 
did me the favour to attend, as a matter of personal re- 
spect ; but it was manifest that they did it with reluctance, 
fearing to be the partners of my mortification, and not of 
my triumph. I was well aware, that, in my case, there 
were many reasons to doubt of my own success. The ma- 
chinery was new and ill-made ; many parts of it were con- 
structed by mechanics unaccustomed to such work ; and 
unexpected difficulties might reasonably be presumed to 
present themselves from other causes. 



/ 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 171 

The moment arrived in which the word was to be given 
for the vessel to move. My friends were in groups on the 
deck. There was anxiety, mixed with fear, among -them. 
They were silent, and sad, and weary. I read in their 
looks nothing but disaster, and almost repented of my ef- 
forts. The signal was given, and the boat moved on a 
short distance, then stopped, and then became immove- 
able. To the silence of the preceding moment, now suc- 
ceeded murmurs of discontent, and agitations, and whis- 
pers, and shrugs. I could hear distinctly repeated, " I told 
you it would be so ; it is a foolish scheme ; I wish we 
were all well out of it." I elevated myself upon a plat- 
form, and addressed the assembly. I stated that I knew 
not what was the matter ; but if they would be quiet, and 
indulge me for half an hour, I would either go on or aban- 
don the voyage for that time. 

This short respite was conceded without objection. I 
went below, examined the machinery, and discovered that 
the cause was a slight mal-adjustment of the machinery of 
some of the work. In a short period it was obviated. 
The boat was again put in motion. She continued to 
move on. All were still incredulous. None seemed will- 
ing: to trust the evidence of their own senses. We left the 
fair city of New York ; we passed through the romantic 
and ever-varying scenery of the Highlands ; we descried 
the clustering houses of Albany ; we reached its shores ; 
and then, even then, when all seemed achieved, I was the 
victim of disappointment. Imagination superseded the in- 
fluence of fact. It was then doubted if it could be done 
again ; or, if done, it was doubted if it could be made **f 
any great value. 



LESSON LXX. 

On being Installed Rector of the University of Glasgow.-— 
Lord Brougham, 

It is not the less true, because it has been oftentimes 
said, that the period of youth is by far the best fitted for 
the improvement of the mind, and the retirement of college 



172 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



almost exclusively adapted to much study. At your envi- 
able age, every thing has the lively interest of novelty and 
freshness; attention is perpetually sharpened by curiosity ; 
and the memory is tenacious of the deep impressions it 
thus receives, to a degree unknown in after life ; while the 
distracting cares of the world, or its beguiling pleasures, 
cross not the threshold of these calm retreats, its distant 
noise and bustle are faintly heard, making the shelter you 
enjoy more grateful; and the struggles of anxious mortals 
embarked upon that troublous sea, are viewed from an emi- 
nence, the security of which is rendered more sweet by 
the prospect of the scene below. 

Yet a little while, and you too will be plunged into those 
waters of bitterness ; and will cast an eye of regret, as now 
I do, upon the peaceful regions you have quitted for ever. 
Such is your lot as members of society ; but it will be your 
own fault if you look back on this place with repentance or 
with shame ; and be well assured, that, whatever time — ay, 
every hour — you squander here on unprofitable idling, will 
then rise up against you, and be paid for by years of bitter 
but unavailing regrets. 

Study, then, I beseech you, so to store your minds with 
the exquisite learning of former ages, that you may always 
possess within yourselves sources of rational and refined 
enjoyment, which will enable you to set at naught the gros- 
ser pleasures of sense, whereof other men are slaves ; and 
so imbue yourselves with the sound philosophy of later 
days, forming yourselves to the virtuous habits which are 
its legitimate offspring, that you may walk unhurt through 
the trials which await you, and may look down upon the 
ignorance and error that surround you, not with lofty and 
supercilious contempt, as the sages of old times, but with 
the vehement desire of enlightening those who wander in 
darkness, and who are by so much the more endeared to us 
by how much they want our assistance. 

To me, calmly revolving these things, such pursuits 
seem far more noble objects of ambition than any upon 
which the vulgar herd of busy men lavish prodigal then 
restless exertions. To diffuse useful information — to furth- 
er intellectual refinement, sure forerunner of moral im- 
provement — to hasten the coming of that bright day when 
the dawn of general knowledge shall chase away the lazy. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 173 

lingering mists, even from the base of the great social pyra- 
mid ; this indeed is a high calling, in which the most splen- 
did talents and consummate virtue may well press onward, 
eager to bear a part. 



LESSON LXXI. 

LochieVs Warning. — Campbell. 

Wizard. Lochiel ! Lochiel ! beware of the day 
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
And the clans of Culloden are scatter'd in fight : 
They rally ! — they bleed ! — for their kingdom and crown ; 
Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down ! 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. 
But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ] 
'Tis thine, O Glenullin ! whose bride shall await, 
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. 
A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 
Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! 
Oh, weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dead : 
For a merciless sword o'er Culloden shall wave, 
Culloden ! that reeks with the blood of the brave. 

Lochiel. Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer ! 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, 
Draw, dotard, around thy old, wavering sight, 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright ! 

Wizard. Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn ? 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ! 
Say, rush'd the bold eagle exultingly forth, 
From his home, in the dark-rolling clouds of the north ? 
Lo ! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode 
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; 
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! 
Ah ! home let him speed — for the spoiler is nigh. 



174 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Why flames the far summit 1 Why shoot to the blast 
Those embers like stars from the firmament cast % 
'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. 
Oh, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlement's height, 
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn : 
Return to thy dwelling, all lonely ! — return ! 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood. 

Lochiel. FalseWizard,avaunt! Ihavemarshall'dmyclan : 
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one ! 
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, 
And, like reapers, descend to the harvest of death. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock ! 
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ; 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud ; 
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array — 

Wizard. Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day ! 
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, 
But man cannot cover what God would reveal : 
'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
And coming events cast their shadows before. 
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring 
With the blood-hounds that bark for thy fugitive king. 
Lo ! anointed by Heaven with vials of wrath, 
Behold, where he flies on his desolate path ! 
Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight : 
Rise ! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! 
'Tis finish'd. Their thunders are hush'd on the moors; 
Culloden is lost, and my country deplores ! 
But where is the iron-bound prisoner 1 Where \ 
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 
Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banish'd, forlorn, 
Like a lamb from his country, cast bleeding and torn t 
Ah, no ! for a darker departure is near ; 
The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier; 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 175 

His death-bell is tolling ; oh ! mercy dispel 
Yon sight that it freezes my spirits to tell ! 
Life flutters, convulsed, in his quivering limbs, 
And his blood- streaming nostril in agony swims. 
Accursed be the faggots that blaze at his feet, 
Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat, 
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale 

Lochiel. Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale ; 
For never shall Albin a destiny meet, 
So black with dishonour, so foul with -retreat. 
Though my perishing ranks shall be strewed in their gore, 
Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, 
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, 
While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, 
Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, 
With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe ! 
And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, 
Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame ! 



LESSON LXXII. 

Bigotry. — Rev. George G. Cookman. 

It was at the close of one of the most sanguinary conflicts 
of modern times, that a celebrated military chieftain, from 
his point of observation, saw with deepest anxiety the shat- 
tered remains of his noble army, ready to sink under the 
protracted fatigue of a three days' fight. At this eventful 
crisis he summoned around him his council of officers. 
" Gentlemen," said he, " these brave fellows can hold out 
no longer." Pulling out his watch, " Gentlemen, it now 
wants fifteen minutes of six o'clock. If the Prussians do not 
arrive before six, I must sound a retreat. Gentlemen, to 
your positions." He stood — he looked at his watch — he 
looked to the field — he looked upward to heaven, and im- 
plored help from the great Arbiter of battles. 

It was an awful moment. Minute succeeded to minute. 
His hard-earned laurels, the honor of his country, the desti- 
nies of Europe, hung trembling in the balance. At length 



176 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

the cry bursts on his listening ear, " The Prussians are 
coming !" He starts from his knees, he flings away his 
watch, he cries, " All's well — the day is ours." Sir, let us. 
keep the field, maintain our positions, do our duty, and all 
will be well — the day shall be ours. 

Before I sit down, I have a duty to perform to that por- 
tion of the army here assembled. I have to forewarn them 
that there is lurking in different sections of our camp a dan- 
gerous and malignant spy. I will endeavor to describe this 
diabolical spy as well as I can. He is remarkably old, hav- 
ing grown grey in iniquity. He is toothless and crooked, 
and altogether of a very unsavoury countenance. His 
name, sir, is Bigotry. He seldom travels in daylight, but 
in the evening shades he steals forth from his haunts of 
retirement, and creeps into the tents of the soldiers ; and 
with a tongue' as smooth and deceptious as the serpent who 
deceived our first mother, he endeavours " to sow arrows, fire- 
brands, and death" in the camp. His policy is to persuade 
the soldiers in garrison to despise those in open field ; and 
again, those in open field to despise those in garrison ; to 
incite the cavalry against the infantry, and the infantry 
against the cavalry. And in so doing he makes no scruple 
to employ misrepresentation, slander and falsehood — for, like 
his father, he is a liar from the beginning. 

Now, sir, I trust the army will be on the alert in detect- 
ing this old scoundrel, and making a public example of him. 
I hope if the Methodist cavalry catch him on the frontiers, 
they will ride him down, and put him to the sword without 
delay. I trust the Presbyterian infantry will receive him 
on the point of the bayonet ; and should the Baptists find 
him skulking along the banks of the river, I trust they will 
fairly drown him ; and should he dare to approach any of 
our garrisons, I hope the Episcopalians will open upon him 
a double-flanked battery ; and the Dutch Reformed greet 
him with a whole round of artillery. 

Let him die the death of a spy without military honours ; 
and after he has been gibbeted for a convenient season, let 
his body be given to the Quakers, and let them bury him 
deep and in silence. May God grant, his miserable ghost 
may never revisit this world of trouble ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 177 

LESSON LXXIII. 
Duty. — Rev. R. Emory, D. D. 

Educated as you have been, and arrived at your present 
age, you cannot, if you would, escape the necessity of think- 
ing for yourselves. You have arrived at a point when the 
mind can no longer receive things upon mere authority. 
Once you acted because the direction came from those whom 
you were justly taught to revere. But now called to act 
and answer for yourselves, you must understand and judge 
for yourselves. Fearful crisis in the history of youth ! 
The navigator, when he discharges his pilot, and essays to 
guide his own vessel over the deep, does not encounter so 
much danger. He has been conducted through the most 
difficult part of the navigation, and in a wider sea may ex- 
pect to pursue his course in comparative safety. 

But in the voyage of life, the young man is often called 
to self-control and self-direction, when dangers stand most 
thick around. And, doubtless, many who, in earlier years, 
longed for this liberty, when they have found their little 
barque tossed upon a tempestuous ocean, have wished they 
could return to the placid lake on which they once sailed, 
more confined, indeed, but more safe. Many a Rasselas has 
escaped into the world only to wish himself back again into 
the Happy Valley. But this may not be. To be borne in 
the arms of another, over the rugged and steep places of the 
way, is a privilege of infancy, which can no more be re- 
sumed, than we can return to that helpless period of exist- 
ence. 

But not the indolence of our nature only — its depravity 
also, is opposed to the study of duty. There is such a 
dread lest the investigation may result in some unwelcome 
discovery, requiring the performance of some painful task, 
or the abandonment of some favorite indulgence. And yet, 
not to study to know our duty is the same sort of immorality 
as not to perform it when it is known ; and, on the other hand, 
a sincere and earnest inquiry after truth is as really an ex- 
ercise of virtue as the most active enterprises of mercy or 
piety. 

The same principle is involved, and the same moral con ? 
8* 



178 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

sequences must ensue. Indeed, this seems to be the prin- 
cipal means of discipline to some. There are those to whom 
the practice of virtue is comparatively easy. Such find 
their trial in the perplexities incident to the discovery of 
duty. And it is probable that the suspense of mind and 
effort of thought which this requires, often occasion more 
distress than the conflict of passion in resisting temptation. 
We mean, of course, when the investigation is pursued, not 
as an intellectual exercise, but with a view to practice. In- 
deed this spirit is essential to success in the study. 

The man who lives in the neglect of known duty, sur- 
rounds himself with a foul atmosphere, in which the lamp 
of truth will not burn clearly, if it burn at all. On the other 
hand, an honest purpose to discharge duty seems, at once, 
to sharpen the mental vision, and to pour new light upon the 
subject of inquiry. 

But even if the most perfect knowledge of duties could be 
obtained, without associating practice with study, yet such 
acquisitions, instead of improving, would but serve to blunt 
the moral sensibilities. With this fact the student, espe- 
cially, cannot be too deeply impressed. He may become 
familiar with the most sublime of all truths, and the most 
important of all duties without their exerting any satisfactory 
influence on his character. 

The profound " Analogy" of Butler may have removed 
from his mind all objections to the system of Christianity ; 
the luminous argument of Paley may have satisfied him as 
to its evidence ; and the study of the sacred oracles them- 
selves may have given him clear and elevated conceptions 
of its doctrines, its morals, and its institutions ; he may 
glow with rapture, or burn with indignation, or weep with 
pity, as the noble, the mean, or the distressing passes before 
him, either in description or in real life; yet with all this 
knowledge, and all this sensibility, he may still be infidel in 
sentiment, corrupt in heart, and abominable in life. 

Witness the case of the accomplished Servin, as related 
by the Duke of Sully. Endowed with a powerful intellect, 
a brilliant imagination, and a prodigious memory, he is said 
to have been skilled, not only in the languages, sciences, 
and arts generally, but to have been particularly well versed 
in theology, an excellent preacher, and an able disputant. 
And yet, as we learn from the same authority, he indulged 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 179 

in " all the vices that are contrary to nature, honor, religion, 
and society ;" and " died in the flower of his age in a com- 
mon brothel, perfectly corrupted by his debaucheries, and 
expired with the glass in his hand, cursing and denying 
God !" 

But though such obstacles to the discovery of duty are 
presented by our mental indolence and moral depravity, let 
not the unworthy notion be entertained that it cannot be dis- 
covered. With a sincere love for the truth, and an un- 
shaken confidence in the possibility of its attainment, you 
shall not fail of success. You may, indeed, at first be per- 
plexed with doubts — distressing, horrible — but " this is the 
vestibule which all must pass before they can enter into the 
temple of wisdom." You will encounter opposition, but this 
is the best evidence of your advancement. 



LESSON LXXIV. 

Errors in Family Government. — Bishop Andrew. 

He who brings up his son in idleness, usually sends out 
upon society another encumbrance and curse. There is a 
strange antipathy to labour among the young of this genera- 
tion, which bodes much evil to country and church. The 
rich among us live in luxury and show, and those who are 
poorer follow their example. Honest labor is repudiated as 
unbecoming in young men of gentility and education, and 
as affording quite too slow a process for acquiring the neces- 
sary fund for maintaining proper rank and appearance. 
Some other more genteel and expeditious method of obtain- 
ing the coveted distinction must therefore be resorted to, and 
in this folly the parents generally lead the way. 

We will suppose here is a thrifty farmer who has, by his 
own skill and industry in agricultural pursuits, acquired a 
competency and respectability. He has three sons to be 
educated and provided for. What is he going to make of 
them 1 Farmers, of course. As you value your reputation 
with the family do not make such a suggestion, or the old 
people will give you a glance of pity and surprise, as much 
as to say, " How oddly you talk ; you are at least a cen- 



180 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

tury behind the age. Why, man, we are people of proper- 
ty, and able to give our sons such an education as will fit 
them to move in the higher circles. Make farmers of them ! 
no, no! One shall study law, after he passes through col- 
lege ; another shall read physic, and the third shall be a 
gentleman at large. Make farmers of them ! it would be a 
sin against the republic of mind, to withdraw so large a por- 
tion of intellectual wealth from its capital. I have worked 
hard all my life," says the farmer, " and am resolved that 
my children shall never have it to do." 

Now this is a very strange affair. Here is a man who, 
under Providence, owes everything he has in this world, 
both as to fortune and character, to this same hard work. 
But for its necessity and influence upon him, he would pos- 
sibly have been, long ago, hanged or lodged in the state's 
prison, or been, to-day, a wandering vagabond, instead of 
being as he is, the honest, virtuous, and respectable head of 
a prosperous family. And yet, to hear him talk, you would 
suppose that hard work embraced in itself half the evils of 
Pandemonium. Well, these sons of promising genius com- 
mence their career. Their earlier years are passed in idle- 
ness. One of the first lessons which they have thoroughly 
mastered is to eschew hard work. 

Some old writer has quaintly said that an idle man's 
brain is the devil's work-shop. It was wisely spoken ; and, 
alas for the country ! these shops are numerous, and the 
workman is rapid, so that plans, plots, and deeds of wicked- 
ness are turned off in swift succession, to the great annoy- 
ance of all good people. Even gray hairs can scarcely be 
intrusted with leisure. Go to one of our villages, and mark 
that knot of noisy politicians, who hold their daily sessions, 
and spend most of their time in idle chat. Who that knows 
human nature will not feel for them 1 Old and established 
as they are, there is danger that they may get into mischief. 
Either their club will become a sort of radiating point for 
slander, a court where the absent are every day put to the 
bar, and tried without the liberty of defence, or rancorous 
animosities are engendered, which issue in lasting hatred, or 
even in bloodshed ; or else, the stimulus of town gossip 
being insufficient, the bar-room and decanter supply the de- 
ficiency. Or, this failing to meet the demand for excite- 
ment, there is a very natural and easy process into the back- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 181 

room, which introduces them into the mysteries of the card 
or billiard table. 

If the case of the old be so, who will not tremble to see 
the youth of the country placed in such circumstances of 
temptation. May we not reasonably anticipate the very 
worst results to them from this experiment ? And does not the 
actual state of the things in the country show that our strong- 
est language is not misapplied in painting these dangers and 
evils. Go to your cities and villages, and mark the swarms 
of young men and lads who darken the doors of bar-rooms, 
and lounge about taverns. Who are they ? You shall 
find that they mostly belong to the class of young gentlemen 
who are quite too sentimental and genteel to perform manual 
labour, but are men of skill to mingle strong drink, and still 
more so to swallow it. 

Who are proficients in the study and practice of profanity ? 
And who are greeted by the clique as young men of parts 
and spirits 1 Who are those who spend much of the day and 
most of the night in back-rooms, or disturb the repose of 
village kitchens, or interrupt the quiet and peaceful inhab- 
itants by their nocturnal yellings and obscene speeches and 
songs ? Who are they that crowd to your race-courses — 
those schools of gambling and dissipation — and promote all 
sorts of wickedness ? The greater portion of them will be 
found to have proceeded from this class ; whence also pro- 
ceeds most of that class of young bipeds, who march stick 
in hand, in the rear of a cigar, to the house of God, and 
show their independence of God and man, by talking, 
laughing, smoking, and otherwise outraging all the laws of 
propriety and good-breeding. Alas for us ! if among these 
we are to look for the future law-givers and rulers of the 
land ; or, should hostile feet press our shores, if these are 
to constitute the country's strong arm of defence ! 



LESSON LXXV. 

Discontent — A Vision. — Rev. Mark Trafton. 

Borne on the breeze of fancy, oft I hear 
The distant sighs of many a parted year ; 



182 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Blest hours of youthful gladness, when I saw 

Life as the poet sees it, who would draw 

A lively landscape full to fancy's eye, 

Where nought but choicest beauties we espy, 

Not fancy all, nor all reality. 

A waking dream, a poet's second sight, 

Like midnight's tresses braided in with light : 

So came the visions of this life to me, 

Sober sometimes, and then in mockery : 

Now youth's gay genius with hope's gladness crowned, 

Now with despairing eye, in sorrow drowned. 

Yet still I question whether then I drew 

More pain than pleasure from my future view. 

When my ambitious spirit longed to be 

From parents and from pedagogues set free. 

'Twas joy to see me in the place of men, 

'Twas grief to be assured that even then 

I must alone, my rugged pathway hew, 

On right and left, rocks, hills, and forests through : 

To breast the billow, rolling on the shore, 

And having conquered, yet to try once more ; 

To hear the echoes shout, encore — encore, 

Among the cliffs, above the ocean's roar. 

Such visions gave me pain, and then the plan 

Seemed vastly wiser, to stay where I am. 

'Tis said, to bear, 'tis better, what we must, 

Than to the promise of the future trust : 

So strongly I inclined to lag in youth, 

And go no farther — yet, to tell the truth, 

Of all conditions I had passed, none pleased, 

And when they changed, my heart was greatly eased. 

I dreamed ; no sooner was old Morpheus' seal 
Upon my eyes, than lo, I saw the wheel 
Of life's still varying changes, vast and high, 
Like that which rolled before the prophet's eye ; 
So high, 'twas dreadful, yet not full of eyes, 
But strangely checkered o'er with smiles and sighs ; 
Which as it rolled its vast circumference up, 
Some in despair would sink, some rise to hope ; 
All stations, all conditions one might see 
Mapped out and drawn on its periphery ; 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 183 

Some fell just as the nectar cup they sip ; 

Some with a shout half finished on the lip ; 

Some wept, some laughed, some cursed, while others prayed ; 

And yet the more the whirling wonder stayed. 

Astonished, I upon the mystery gazed, 
As one from fearful dreams awakes, amazed ; 
When, lo ! a venerable form appears, 
Whose whitened locks betokened numerous years ; 
Tall, stately, graceful, both in form and mien, 
Such as with mortals, seldom here is seen. 
His eye was lustrous as the morning star ; 
His voice was sweet as evening zephyrs are ; 
He spoke — " My name is Destiny ; behold 
In me the power by which all are controlled. 
Mortal, the vision thou, amazed, didst see, 
Is but a view of life's variety : 
Such changes are by all men rashly sought — 
Most madly wished, with all their evil fraught ; 
Though greatly blessed, these gifts they treat with scorn ; 
Nor know to prize them till they are withdrawn. 
O, would they know what often hath been taught, 
The present's worth, contentment with their lot ; 
This vulture would no longer tear the heart, 
And tears and vain regrets would then depart." 

" Superior Being," I presumed to say, 
" With me, O let this lesson ever stay ; 
Whate'er my lot, how r e'er life's journey go, 
Or weal betide me, or betide me woe, 
But yet through all my vision's ample range, 
Nothing I fear like this unceasing change. 
O, grant me, then, above all else, I pray, 
In Youth's Elysium, blithe and blest to stay. 
Happy am I, O let me still remain, 
Free as a bird, from toil, and care, and pain." 

He smiled incredulous, then raised his eye, 
And pointed to that whirling wheel on high : — 
" Rash youth !" said he, "you know not what you choose, 
Yet will I not entire the boon refuse. 
Look yonder on that wheel, that silvery thread, 
With light and shade so strangely overspread ; 
That line will be thy varying track of flight ; 
The dark is very dark — the rest is light : 



184 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Some strange vicissitudes will fall to thee ; 

There will be hours when thou wilt happy be. 

This power I give ; around, when thou dost find 

All things according to thy ardent mind ; 

When thou hast reached that point where thou wouldst be, 

Fixed without change for an eternity, 

No more to lose, no more to hope below, 

This wand then raise, and strike one vigorous blow ; 

Straightway this wheel, revolving swift in fire, 

With thee shall stop, and change shall then expire." 

He said, and vanished: I in wonder gazed, 
And now the gift, and now the giver praised ; 
Life's true elixir I alone possessed ; 
I felt a bliss which cannot be expressed : 
Immortal Youth, unchanged before me lay, 
Mine to enjoy — mine was the blissful day. 
Around me gathered all the heart can cheer, 
All to enjoy and nothing more to fear : 
I raised the wand to give the mystic stroke, 
Hope threw one smile, the spell was gone, I woke ; 
And never have I seen that blissful hour, 
When I would stop that wheel had I the power. 



LESSON LXXVI. 
The Harbour of Rio de Janeiro. — Rev. Dr. Kidder. 

Rio de Janeiro is the largest city of South America, 
and boasts an antiquity greater than that of any existing 
town in the United States. 

Just within the borders of the southern torrid zone, the 
harbour, on which this city is located, opens, by a bold and 
narrow passage, between two granite mountains, into the 
wide-rolling Atlantic. Its entrance is so safe to the navi- 
gator, as to render the guidance of a pilot unnecessary. So 
commanding, however, is the position of various fortresses 
at the mouth of that harbour, and upon its islands and heights, 
that, if properly constructed, and efficiently manned, they 
might defy the hostile ingress of the proudest navies of the 
globe. 

Quietly retired within a circle of mountains lies this mag- 
nificent bay of Nitherohy, or the Hidden Water. Here the 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 185 

wanderer of the seas may moor his barque upon a sure 
anchorage, within hearing of the roar of the ocean-surf, but 
safe from its agitation. Around him ride the flag-ships of 
England, of France, of the United States, and sometimes 
those of Russia, of Portugal, and of Austria. A short dis- 
tance farther to leeward lies the merchant fleet, combining a 
still greater variety of flags, and indicating a diversity of inter- 
ests as wide as the space that separates their several nations. 

The first entrance of an individual into such a harbour as 
that of Rio de Janeiro deserves to form an era in his exist- 
ence ; for he must be a dull observer of nature who would 
not thenceforward cherish sublimer views of the beauty and 
variety of creation, as well as higher conceptions of the 
power and greatness of the Creator. 

Does the atheist here presume to mock Him who " brought 
forth the mountains V The Sugar-Loaf, the Corcovado, the 
Gavia, and their neighbouring heights, frown upon him in 
awful majesty, and the tall Organ peaks, which skirt the 
northern horizon, point to heaven in silent but emphatic re- 
buke. Does he desire to have his dark mind illuminated 
by some faint similitude of the " light inapproachable," in 
which Jehovah dwells ? Let him open his eyes upon the 
resplendence of a vertical sun, enhanced by an atmosphere 
of unrivalled transparency, and multiplied by a thousand 
reflections from the mirrored waters, the white sanded 
beach, the .polished foliage, and the unclouded sky. 

Does he wish to obtain an idea of that Being who " mak- 
eth the clouds his chariot, who walketh upon the wings of 
the wind V Let him listeu to the sudden thunder-gust that 
comes bursting and pealing down the mountains, or hurry- 
ing before the tempest from the sea. Let him gaze upon 
the blackening heavens rent with lightnings, and await the 
clash and conflict of the agitated elements, and he shall 
shrink within himself, and ask God to defend him. Thence- 
forward, with the Christian, he may see the propriety and 
beauty of the exclamations of the Psalmist, " Praise ye the 
Lord from the heavens, praise him in the heights, praise ye 
him, sun and moon, praise him, all ye stars of light ! Fire 
and hail, stormy wind, fulfilling his word, mountains, and 
all hills, fruitful trees, and all cedars, kings of the earth, 
and all people, both young men and maidens, old men and 
children, let them praise the name of the Lord, for his name 
is alone excellent, his glory is above the earth and heaven. ' 



186 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON LXXVII. 

The American Flag. — J. R. Drake. 

When Freedom from her mountain height 

Unfurl'd her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night, 

And set the stars of glory there. 
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
The milky baldric of the skies, 
And striped its pure, celestial white, 
With streakings of the morning light; 
Then from his mansion in the sun 
She call'd her eagle-bearer down, 
And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land. 

Majestic monarch of the cloud, 

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
To hear the tempest trumpings loud 
And see the lightning lances driven, 

When strive the warriors of the storm, 
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven, — 
Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given 

To guard the banner of the free, 
To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
To ward away the battle-stroke, *■ 

And bid its blendings shine afar, 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 

The harbingers of victory ! 

Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 
The sign of hope and triumph high, 
When speaks the signal trumpet tone, 
And the long line comes gleaming on. 
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 
Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet, 
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn 
To where thy sky-born glories burn ; 
And as his springing steps advance, 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 187 

And when the cannon-mouthings loud 
Heave in wild wreathes the battle shroud, 
And gory sabres rise and fall 
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall ; 
Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 

And cowering foes shall sink beneath 
Each gallant arm that strikes below 

That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave ; 
When death, careering on the gale, 
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
And frighted waves rush wildly back 
Before the broadside's reeling rack, 
Each dying wanderer of the sea 
Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
And smile to see thy splendours fly, 
In triumph o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home ! 

By angel hands to valour given ; 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were bom in heaven. 
For ever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ! 



LESSON LXXVIII. 

To a City Pigeon. — N. P. Willis. 

Stoop to my window, thou beautiful dove ! 
Thy daily visits have touch' d my love ! 
I watch thy coming, and list the note 
That stirs so low in thy mellow throat ; 

And my joy is high, 
To catch the glance of thy gentle eye. 
F4 



188 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Why dost thou sit on the heated eaves, 

And forsake the wood with its freshen'd leaves % 

Why dost thou haunt the sultry street, 

When the paths of the forest are cool and sweet 1 

How can' st thou bear 
This noise of people — this sultry air ] 

Thou alone of the feather' d race 

Dost look unscared on the human face ; 

Thou alone, with a wing to flee, 

Dost love with man in his haunts to be ; 

And " the gentle dove" 
Has become a name for trust and love. 

A holy gift is thine, sweet bird ! 
Thou 'rt named with childhood's earliest word ! 
Thou 'rt link'd with all that is fresh and wild 
In the prison' d thoughts of the city child ! 

And thy .glossy wings 
Are its brightest image of moving things. 

It is no light chance. Thou art set apart 
Wisely by Him who has tamed thy heart, 
To stir the love for the bright and fair 
That else were seal'd in this crowded air. 

I sometimes dream 
Angelic rays from thy pinions stream. 

Come, then, ever, when daylight leaves 
The page I read, to my humble eaves, 
And wash thy breast in the hollow spout, 
And murmur thy low sweet music out ! 

I hear and see 
Lessons of Heaven, sweet bird, in thee ! 



LESSON LXXIX. 

The First of March. — Horace Smith. 

The bud is in the bough, and the leaf is in the bud, 
And Eaith's beginning now, in her veins to feel the bl x)d, 
Which, warm'd by summer's sun, in th' alembic of the vine, 
From her fount will overrun, in a ruddy gush of wine. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 189 

The perfume and the bloom, that shall decorate the flower, 
Are quickening in the gloom of their subterranean bower; 
And the juices, meant to feed trees, vegetables, fruits, 
Unerringly proceed to their pre-appointed roots. 

How awful is the thought of the wonders under ground, 
Of the mystic changes wrought in the silent, dark profound ; 
How each thing upward tends, by necessity decreed, 
And a world's support depends on the shooting of a seed ! 

The Summer's in her ark, and this sunny-pinioned day 
Is commissioned to remark whether Winter holds his 

sway : — 
Go back, thou dove of peace, with the myrtle on thy wing, 
Say that floods and tempests cease, and the world is ripe 

for Spring. 

Thou hast fann'd the sleeping Earth, till her dreams are all 

of flowers, 
And the waters look in mirth for their overhanging bowers ; 
The forest seems to listen for the rustle of its leaves, 
And the very skies to glisten in the hope of summer eves. 

The vivifying spell has been felt beneath the wave, 

By the dormouse in its cell, and the mole within its cave ; 

And the summer tribes that creep, or in air expand their 

wing, 
Have started from their sleep at the summons of the Spring. 

The cattle lift their voices from the valleys and the hills, 
And the feather'd race rejoices with a gush of tuneful bills ; 
And if this cloudless arch fills the poet's song with glee, 
O thou sunny first of March, be it dedicate to thee ! 



LESSO'N LXXX. 

Where is He ? — Henry Neele. 
u Man giveth up the ghost, and where is he V* 

" And where is he ?" Not by the side 
Of her whose wants he loved to tend ; 

Not o'er those valleys wandering wide, 
Where, sweetly lost, ha oft would wend. 
f5 



190 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

That form beloved he marks no more ; 

Those scenes admired no more shall see ; 
Those scenes are lovely as before, 

And she as fair — but where is he % 

No, no, the radiance is not dim 

That used to gild his favourite hill ; 
The pleasures that were dear to him, 

Are dear to life and nature still ; 
But, ah ! his home is not as fair, 

Neglected must his garden be, 
The lilies droop and wither there, 

And seem to whisper, where is he % 

His was the pomp, the crowded hall ! 

But where is now his proud display % 
His — riches, honours, pleasures, all 

Desire could frame ; — but where are they ? 
And he, as some tall rock that stands 

Protected by the circling sea, 
Surrounded by admiring bands, 

Seemed proudly strong, — and where is he 1 

The church-yard bears an added stone, 

The fire-side shows a vacant chair ; 
Here sadness dwells, and weeps alone, 

And death displays his banner there ; 
The life has gone, the breath has fled, 

And what has been, no more shall be ; 
The well-known form, the welcome tread, 

O where are they, and where is he ] 



LESSON LXXXI. 
Character of Schiller. — Thomas Carlylr. 

Literature was his creed, the dictate of his conscience , 
he was an Apostle of the Sublime and Beautiful, and this 
his calling made a hero of him. For it was in the spirit of 
a true man that he viewed it, and undertook to cultivate it ; 
and its inspirations constantly maintained the noblest tem- 
per in his soul. 

The end of literature was not, in Schiller's judgment, to 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 191 

amuse the idle, or to recreate the busy, by showy specta- 
cles for the imagination, or quaint paradoxes and epigram- 
matic disquisitions for the understanding : least of all was 
it to gratify in any shape the selfishness of its professors, to 
minister to their malignity, their love of money, or even 
their fame. For persons who degrade it to such purpo- 
ses, the deepest contempt, of which his kindly nature could 
admit, was at all times in store. " Unhappy mortal !" says 
he, to the literary tradesman, the man who writes for gain, 
"Unhappy mortal! that with science and art, the noblest 
of all instruments, effectest and attemptest nothing more 
than the day-drudge with the meanest ! that in the do- 
main of perfect Freedom, bearest about in thee the spirit 
of a slave !" 

As Schiller viewed it, genuine literature includes the es- 
sence of philosophy, religion, art; whatever speaks to the 
immortal part of man. The daughter, she is likewise the 
nurse of all that is spiritual and exalted in our character. 
The boon she bestows is truth ; truth not merely physical, 
political, economical, such as the sensual man in us is per- 
petually demanding, ever ready to reward, and likely in 
general to find ; but truth of moral feeling, truth of taste, 
that inward truth in its thousand modifications, which only 
the most etherial portion of our nature can discern, but 
without which that portion of it languishes and dies ; and 
we are left divested of our birthright, thenceforward " of the 
?arth earthy," machines for earning and enjoying, no longer 
worthy to be called the sons of Heaven. 

The treasures of Literature are thus celestial, imperish- 
able, beyond all price : with her is the shrine of our best 
hopes, the. palladium of pure manhood ; to be among the 
guardians and servants of this is the noblest function that 
can be entrusted to a mortal. Genius, even in its faintest 
scintillations, is " the inspired gift of God ;" a solemn man- 
date to its owner to go forth and labour in his sphere, to 
keep alive " the sacred fire" among his brethren, which the 
heavy and polluted atmosphere of this world is forever 
threatening to extinguish. Woe to him if he neglect this 
mandate, if he hear not its small still voice ! Woe to him 
if he turn this inspired gift into the servant of his evil or ig- 
noble passions ; if he offer it on the altar of vanity, if bo 
sell it for a piece of money ! 
f6 



1&2 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON LXXXII. 

Law. — Stevens. 

Law is law — law is law ; and as in such and so forth anfti 
hereby, and aforesaid, provided always, nevertheless, not- 
withstanding. Law is like a country dance, people are led 
up and down in it till they are tired. Law is like a bool« 
of surgery, there are a great many desperate cases in it 
It is also like physic, they that take the least of it are besl 
off. Law is like a homely' gentlewoman, very well to fol 
low. Law is also like a scolding wife, very bad when h 
follows us. Law is like a new fashion, people are bewitch 
ed to get into it : it is also like bad weather, most people 
are glad when they get out of it. 

We shall now mention a cause, called " Bullum versus 
Boatum :" it was a cause that came before me. The 
cause was as follows : 

There were two farmers : farmer A. and farmer B. Far- 
mer A. was seized or possessed of a bull : farmer B. was 
seized or possessed of a ferry-boat. Now, the owner of 
the ferry-boat, had made his boat fast to a post on shore, 
with a piece of hay, twisted rope-fashion, or, as we say, 
vulgo vocato, a hay-band. After he had made his boat fast 
to a post on shore, as it was very natural for a hungry 
man to do, he went up town to dinner : farmer A.'s bull, 
as it was very natural for a hungry bull to do, came down 
town to look for a dinner ; and, observing, discovering, 
seeing, and spying out some turnips in the bottom of the 
ferry-boat, the bull scrambled into the ferry-boat ; he ate 
up the turnips, and, to make an end of his meal, fell to 
work upon the hay-band : the boat, being eaten from its 
moorings, floated down the river, with the bull in it ; it 
struck against a rock, which beat a hole in the bottom of the 
boat, and tossed the bull overboard ; whereupon the own- 
er of the bull brought his action against the boat, for run- 
ning away with the bull ; the owner of the boat brought 
his action against the bull for running away with the boat. 
And thus notice of trial was given, Bullum versus Boatum, 
Boatum versus Bullum. 

Now the counsel for the bull began with saying : " My 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. ]93 

lord, and you gentlemen of the jury, we are counsel in 
this cause for the bull. We are indicted for running away 
with the boat. Now, my lord, we have heard of running 
horses, but never of running bulls, before. Now, my lord, 
the bull could no more run away with the boat, than a man 
in a coach may be said to run away with the horses ; there- 
fore, my lord, how can we punish what is not punishable % 
How can we eat what is not eatable 1 Or how can we 
drink what is not drinkable ? Or, as the law says, how 
can we think on what is not thinkable % Therefore, my 
lord, as we are counsel in this cause for the bull ; if the 
jury should bring the bull in guilty, the jury would be guil- 
ty of a bull." 

The counsel for the boat observed, that the bull should 
be nonsuited ; because, in his declaration, he had not speci- 
fied what colour he was of; for thus wisely, and thus learn- 
edly, spoke the counsel ! — " My lord, if the bull was of no 
colour, he must be of some colour ; and, if he was not of 
any colour, what colour could the bull be of'?" I over- 
ruled this motion myself, by observing, that the bull was a 
white bull, and that white is no colour : besides, as I told 
my brethren, they should not trouble their heads to talk 
of colour, in the law, for the law can colour any thing. 
This cause being afterwards left to a reference, upon the 
award, both bull and boat were acquitted ; it being proved, 
that the tide of the river carried them both away : upon 
which, I gave it as my opinion, that, as the tide of the 
river carried both bull and boat away, both bull and boat 
had a good action against the water-bailiff. 

My opinion being taken, an action was issued ; and, up- 
on the traverse, this point of law arose : How, wherefore, 
and whether, why, when, and what, whatsoever, whereas, 
and whereby, as the boat was not a compos-mentis evidence, 
how could an oath be administered 1 That point was soon 
settled, by Boatum's attorney declaring, that, foi his client, 
lie would swear any thing. 

The water-bailiff's charter was then read, taken out of 
the original record, in true law Latin ; which set forth, in 
their declaration, that they were carried away either by 
the tide of flood, or the tide of ebb. The charter of the 
water-bailifF was as follows : Aquce bailiffi est magistratus 
in choisi super omnibus jiskibus qui habuerunt fiima et sea- 



194 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

los, claws, sliells, et talos, qui swimmare infresJiibns, vel saltt 
bus river is, lalds, pondis, canalibus, et well boats ; she oysteri, 
prawni, whitini, slirimpi, turbutus solus; that is, not turbots 
alone, but turbots and soles both together. But now comes 
the nicety of the law : the law is as nice as a new-laid egg, 
and not to be understood by addle-headed people. Bul- 
lum and Boatum mentioned both ebb and flood, to avoid 
quibbling ; but it being proved, that they were carried 
away neither by the tide of flood, nor by the tide of ebb, 
but exactly upon the top of high water, they were nonsuit- 
ed ; but such was the lenity of the court, upon their paying 
all costs, they were allowed to begin again, de novo. 



LESSON LXXXIII. 

Contributions of tlie New World to the Old. — 1). Webster. 

Few topics are more inviting, or more fit for philosophi- 
cal discussion, than the action and influence of the new 
world upon the old ; or the contributions of America to 
Europe. Her obligations to Europe for science and art, 
laws, literature and manners, America acknowledges as she 
ought, with respect and gratitude. And the people of the 
United States, descendants of the English .stock, grateful 
for the treasures of knowledge derived from their English 
ancestors, acknowledge also, with thanks and filial regard, 
chat among those ancestors, under the culture of Hampden 
and Sydney, and other assiduous friends, that seed of pop- 
ular liberty first germinated, which on our soil has shot up 
to its full height, until its branches overshadow all the land. 

But America has not failed to make returns. If she has 
not cancelled the obligation, or equalled it by others of like 
weight, she has, at least, made respectable advances, and 
some approaches toward equality. And she admits, that 
standing in the midst of civilized nations — there, is a high 
part which she is expected to act, for the general advance 
of human interests and human welfare. American mines 
have filled the mints of Europe with the precious metals. 
The productions of the American soil and climate have 
poured out their abundance of luxuries for the tables of 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 195 

the rich, and of necessaries for the sustenance of the poor. 
Birds and animals of beauty and value have been added to 
the European stocks; and transplantations from the tran- 
scendant and unequalled riches of our forests have mingled 
themselves profusely with the elms, and ashes, and Druidal 
oaks of England. 

America has made contributions far more vast. Who 
can estimate the amount, or the value, of the augmentation 
of the commerce of the world, that has resulted from 
America'? Who can imagine to himself, what would be 
the shock to the Eastern Continent, if the Atlantic were no 
longer traversable, or there were no longer American pro- 
ductions, or American markets % But America exercises 
influences, or holds out examples for the consideration of 
the Old World, of a much higher, because they are of a 
moral and political character. America has furnished to 
Europe proof of the fact that popular institutions, founded 
on equality and the principle of representation, are capable 
of maintaining governments — able to secure the rights of 
person, property, and reputation. 

America has proved that it is practicable to elevate the 
mass of mankind — that portion which in Europe is called 
the labouring, or lower class — to raise them to self-respect, 
to make them competent to act a part in the great right, 
and great duty, of self-government ; and this she has proved 
may be done by education and the diffusion of knowledge. 
She holds out an example, a thousand times more enchant- 
ing than ever was presented before, to those nine-tenths of 
the human race who are born without hereditary fortune or 
hereditary rank. 

America has furnished to the world the character of 
Washington ! And if our American institutions had done 
nothing else, that alone would have entitled them to the re- 
spect of mankind. Washington ! " First in war, first in 
peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen !" Wash- 
ington is all our own ! The enthusiastic veneration and re- 
gard in which the people of the United States hold him, 
prove them to be worthy of such a countryman ; while his 
reputation abroad reflects the highest honour on his country 
and its institutions. I would cheerfully put the question to- 
day to the intelligence of Europe and the world, what 
dharacter of the century, upon the whole, stands out in the 



196 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

relief of history, most pure, most respectable, most sub- 
lime ; and I doubt not, that by a suffrage approaching to 
unanimity, the answer would be, Washington ! 

I claim him for America. In all the perils, in every 
darkened moment of the state, in the midst of the re- 
proaches of enemies and the misgiving of friends — 1 turn 
to that transcendant name for courage and for consolation. 
To him who denies, or doubts, whether our fervid liberty 
ean be combined with law, with order, with the security of 
property, with the pursuits and advancement of happiness 
— to him who denies that our institutions are capable of 
producing exaltation of soul and the passion of true glory 
— to him who denies that w r e have contributed anything to 
the stock of great lessons and great examples — to all these 
I reply by pointing to Washington ! 



LESSON LXXXIV. 

'Peroration to the Invectice against Warren Hastings — Sher- 
idan. 

Before I come to the last magnificent paragraph, let 
me cali the attention of those who, possibly, think them- 
selves capable of judging of the dignity and character of jus- 
tice in this country ; — let me call the attention of those who 
arrogantly, perhaps, presume that they understand what the 
features, what the duties of justice are here and in India ; 
let them learn a lesson from this great statesman, this en- 
larged, this liberal philosopher : — " I hope I shall not de- 
part from the simplicity of official language, in saying, that 
the Majesty of Justice ought to be approached with solici- 
tation, not descend to provoke or invite it, much less to 
debase itself by the suggestion of wrongs, and the promise 
of redress, with the denunciation of punishment before tri- 
al, and even before accusation." This is the exhortation 
which Mr. Hasting^ makes to his Counsel. This is the 
character which he gives of British justice. 
. But I will ask your Lordships, do you approve this rep- 
resentation 1 Do you feel that this is the true image of 
Justice % Is this the character of British Justice ] Are 



PIECES FOE READING AND DECLAMATION. 197 

these her features ] Is this her countenance 1 Is this her 
gait or her mien 1 No ; I think even now I hear you call* 
ing upon me to turn from this vile libel, this base carica- 
ture, this Indian pagod, formed by the hand of guilty and kna- 
vish tyranny, to dupe the heart of ignorance, — to turn from 
this deformed idol to the true Majesty of Justice here. Here, 
indeed, I see a different form, enthroned by the sovereign 
hand of Freedom, — awful, without severity — commanding, 
without pride — vigilant and active, without restlessness 01 
suspicion — searching and inquisitive, without meanness or 
debasement — not arrogantly scorning to stoop to the voice 
of afflicted innocence, and in its loveliest attitude when 
bending to uplift the suppliant at its feet. 

It is by the majesty, by the form of that justice, that I 
do conjure and implore your Lordships, to give your minds 
to this great business ; that I exhort you to look, not so 
much to words which may be denied or quibbled away, but 
to the plain facts, — to weigh and consider the testimony in 
your own minds : we know the result must be inevitable. 
Let the truth appear, and our cause is gained. It is this — 
I conjure your Lordships, for your own honour, for the hon- 
our of the nation, for the honour of human nature, now en- 
trusted to your care, — it is this duty that the Commons of 
England, speaking through us, claim at your hands. 

They exhort you to it by every thing that calls sublimely 
upon the heart of man — by the majesty of that Justice 
which this bold man has libelled — by the wide fame of 
your tribunal — by the sacred pledge by which you swear 
in the solemnhour of decision : knowing that that decision 
will then bring you the highest rewards that ever blessed 
the heart of man — the consciousness of having done the 
greatest act of mercy for the world, that the earth has ever 
yet received from any hand but Heaven. My Lords, I 
have done. 



LESSON LXXXV. 

Panegyric on the Eloquence of Sheridan. — Burke. 

He has this day surprised the thousands who hung with 
rapture on his accents, by such an array of talents, such an 



198 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

exhibition of capacity, such a display of powers, as are un- 
paralleled in the annals of oratory ; a display that reflected 
the highest honour on himself — lustre upon letters — re- 
nown upon parliament — glory upon the country. Of all 
species of rhetoric, of every kind of eloquence that has 
been witnessed or recorded, either in ancient or modern 
times ; whatever the acuteness of the bar, the dignity of 
the senate, the solidity of the judgment-seat, and the sacred 
morality of the pulpit, have hitherto furnished, nothing has 
equalled what we have this day heard. 

No holy seer of religion, no statesman, no orator, no man 
of any literary description whatever, has come up, in the 
one instance, to the pure sentiments of morality ; or, in 
the other, to that variety of knowledge, force of imagina- 
tion, propriety and vivacity of allusion, beauty and elegance 
of diction, strength and copiousness of style, pathos and 
sublimity of conception, to which we, this day, listened 
with ardour and admiration. From poetry up to elo- 
quence, there is not a species of composition, of which a 
complete and perfect specimen might not, from that single 
speech, be culled and collected. 



LESSON LXXXVI. 
Death of Little Nell. — Charles Dickens. 

She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free 
from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a 
creature fresh from the hand of .God, and waiting for the 
breath of life ; not one who had lived and suffered death. 
Her couch was dressed with here and there some winter- 
berries and green leaves, gathered in a spot she had been 
used to favour. " When I die, put near me something that 
has loved the light, and had the sky above it always." 
Those were her words. 

She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was 
dead. Her little bird — a poor, slight thing the pressure of 
a finger would have crushed — was stirring nimbly in its cage, 
and the strong heart of its child-mistress was mute and 
motionless forever ! Where were the traces of her early 
cares, her sufferings, and fatigues ? All gone. Sorrow was 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 199 

dead, indeed, in her ; but peace and perfect happiness were 
born — imaged — in her tranquil beauty and profound repose. 

And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this 
change. Yes ! the old fireside had smiled upon that same 
sweet face ; it had passed, like a dream, through haunts of 
misery and care ; at the door of the poor schoolmaster on 
the summer evening, before the furnace-fire upon the cold 
wet night, at the still bedside of the dying boy, there had 
been the same mild, lovely look. So shall we know the 
angels in their majesty after death. 

The old man held one languid arm in his, and that the 
small tight hand folded to his breast for warmth. It was the 
hand she had stretched out to him with her last smile — the 
hand that had led him on through all their wanderings. 
Ever and anon he pressed it to his lips ; then hugged it to 
his breast again, murmuring that it was warmer now ; and, 
as he said it, he looked in agony to those who stood around, 
as if imploring them to help her. 

She was dead, and past all help, or need of it. The an- 
cient rooms she had seemed to fill with life, even while her 
own was waning fast, the garden she had tended, the eyes 
she had gladdened, the noiseless haunts of many a thought- 
less hour, the paths she had trodden, as it were, but yester- 
day, could know her no more. 

" It is not," said the schoolmaster, as he bent down to 
kiss her on the cheek, and gave his tears free vent, " It is 
not in this world that Heaven's justice ends. Think w T hat 
it is, compared with the world to which her young spirit 
has winged its early flight, and say, if one deliberate wish, 
expressed in solemn tones above this bed, could call her back 
to life, which of us would utter it !" 

She had been dead two days. They were all about her 
at the time, knowing that the end was drawing on. She 
died soon after daybreak. They had read and talked to her 
in the earlier portion of the night, but, as the hours crept on, 
she sunk to sleep. They could tell, by what she faintly 
uttered in her dreams, that they were of her journeyings 
with the old man : they were of no painful scenes, but of 
those who had helped them, and used them kindly ; for she 
often said " God bless you !" with great fervour. Waking, 
she never wandered in her mind but once, and that was at 



200 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

beautiful music, which she said was in the air. God knows. 
It may have been. 

Opening her eyes at last from a very quiet sleep, she 
begged that they would kiss her once again. That done, she 
turned to the old man, with a lovely smile upon her face — 
such, they said, as they had never seen, and never could 
forget — and clung, with both her arms about his neck. She 
had never murmured or complained ; but with a quiet mind, 
and manner quite unaltered — save that she every day became 
more earnest and more grateful to them — faded like the light 
upon the summer's evening. 

The child who had been her little friend, came there, al- 
most as soon as it was day, with an offering of dried flowers, 
which he begged them to lay upon her breast. He told them 
of his dream again, and that it was of her being restored to 
them, just as she used to be. He begged hard to see her, 
saying, that he would be very quiet, and that they need not 
fear his being alarmed, for he had sat alone by his younger 
brother all day long when he was dead, and had felt glad to 
be so near him. They let him have his wish ; and, indeed, 
he kept his word, and was, in his childish way, a lesson to 
them all. 

Up to that time, the old man had not spoken once — ex- 
cept to her — or stirred from the bedside. But when he 
saw her little favourite, he was moved as they had not seen 
him yet, and made as though he would have him come 
nearer. Then pointing to the bed, he burst into tears for 
the first time, and they who stood by, knowing that the 
sight of this child had done him good, left them alone to- 
gether. 

Soothing him with his artless talk of her, the child persuad- 
ed him to take some rest, to walk abroad, to do almost as he 
desired him. And when the day came on which must re- 
move her, in her earthly shape from earthly eyes forever, 
he led him away, that he might not know when she was 
taken from him. They were to gather fresh leaves and 
berries for her bed. 

And now the bell — the bell she had sp often heard by 
night and day, and listened to with solemn pleasure, almost 
as a living voice, rung its remorseless toll for her, so young, 
so beautiful, so good. Decrepit age, and vigourous life, and 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 201 

blooming youth, and helpless infancy, poured forth — on 
crutches, in the pride of health and strength, in the full 
blush of promise, in the mere dawn of life — to gather round 
her tomb. Old men were there whose eyes were dim and 
senses failing — grandmothers, who might have died ten years 
ago, and still been old — the deaf, the blind, the lame, the 
palsied — the living dead, in many shapes and forms, to see 
the closing of that early grave. 

Along the crowded path they bore her now — pure as the 
newly-fallen snow that covered it — whose day on earth had 
been as fleeting. Under that porch where she had sat, when 
Heaven, in its mercy, brought her to that peaceful spot, she 
passed again, and the old church received her in its quiet 
shade. 

They carried her to one old nook where she had, many 
and many a time sat musing, and laid their burden softly on 
the pavement. The light streamed on it through the colored 
window — a window where the boughs of trees were ever 
rustling in the summer, and where the birds sang sweetly 
all day long. With every breath of air that stirred among 
those branches in the sunshine, some trembling, changing 
light would fall upon her grave. 

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Many a 
young hand dropped in its little wreath — many a stifled sob 
was heard. Some, and they were not a few, knelt down. 
All were sincere and truthful in their sorrow. The service 
done, the mourners stood apart, and the villagers closed 
round to look into the grave, before the stone should be re- 
placed. 

One called to mind how he had seen her sitting on that 
very spot, and how her book had fallen on her lap, and she 
was gazing with a pensive face upon the sky. Another told 
"how he had wondered much that one so delicate as she 
should be so bold ; how she had never feared to enter the 
church alone, at night, but had loved to linger there when 
all was quiet ; and even to climb the tower stair, with no 
more light than that of the moon-rays stealing through the 
loop-holes in the thick old walls. A whisper went about 
among the oldest there, that she had seen and talked with 
angels ; and when they called to mind how she had looked 
and spoken, and her early death, some thought it might be 
so, indeed. 



202 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Thus coming to the grave in little knots, and glancing 
down, and giving place to others, and falling off in whisper- 
ing groups of three or four, the church was cleared, in time, 
of all but the sexton and the mourning friends. Then, when 
the dusk of evening had come on, and not. a sound disturbed 
the sacred stillness of the place — when the bright moon 
poured in her light on tomb and monument, on pillar; wall, 
and arch — and most of all, it seemed to them, upon her quiet 
grave — in that calm time when all outward things and in- 
ward thoughts teem with assurances of immortality, and 
worldly hopes and fears are humbled in the dust before them, 
then, with tranquil and submissive hearts they turned away, 
and left the child with God. 



LESSON LXXXV1I. 

The Eternity of God. — N. C. Brooks. 

The deep foundations of the earth are thine, 

Laid by thy hand, Almighty ! when of old, 

From ancient chaos, order rose, and light 

From darkness — beauty from a shapeless mass ; 

A glorious orb from its Creator's hands 

It came, in light and loveliness arrayed, 

Crown'd with green em 'raid mounts, tinted with gold, 

And wearing, as a robe, the silver sea 

Seeded with jewels of resplendent isles. 

The awful heavens are thine — the liquid sun 
That heaves his fiery waves beneath thine eye — 
The ocean-fount of all the streams of light 
That pour their beamy treasures through the wide 
Illimitable ether, watering with their rays 
The wide spread soil, to where the burning sands 
Of dark immensity, eternal barriers throw 
Against the flowing of their crystal streams — • 
Was from the Godhead's urn of glory poured. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 203 

The stars are thine — the charactery grand, 
In which, upon the face of awful heaven 
Thy hand has traced, in radiant lines, thy grace, 
Thy glory, thy magnificence and power, 
For eye of man and angel to behold, 
And read and gaze on, worship and adore. 

These shall grow old ; the solid earth, with years 
Shall see her sapless body shrivel up, 
And her gray mountains crumble, piece-meal down 
Like crypt and pyramid, to primal dust. 
The sea shall labor — on his hoary head 
Shall wave his tresses, silvered o'er with age ! 
The deep pulsation of the mighty heart, 
That bids the blood-like fluid circulate 
Through every fibre of the earth, shall cease ^ 
And the eternal heavens, in whose bright folds, 
As in a starry vesture, Thou art girt, 
Shall lose their lustre, and grow old with years ; 
And as a worn-out garment, thou shalt fold 
Their faded glories, and, they shall be changed 
To vesture bright, immortal as thyself. 
Yea, the eternal heavens, on whose blue page 
Thy glory and magnificence are traced, 
With age shall tarnish, and shall be rolled up, 
As parchment scrolls of abrogated acts, 
And be deposited in deathless urns 
Among the archives of the mighty God. 

Thou art the same — Thy years shall never fail ;— 
In glory bright, when every star and sun 
Shall lose their lustre, and expire in night — 
Immortal all, when time and slow decay 
Imprint their ravages on nature's face ; 
Triumphantly secure, when from the tower 
Of highest heaven's imperial citadel 
The bell of nature's dissolution toll, 
And sun, and star, and planet be dissolved, 
And the wide drapery of darkness hang 
A gloomy pall of sable mourning round 
Dead nature, in the grave of chaos laid. 



204 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON LXXXVIII. 

Not on the Battle Field. — J. Pierpont. 

" To fall on the battle field, fighting for my dear country — that would 
not be hard." — Miss Bremer. 

O, no, no ! let me lie 
Not on a field of battle when I die ! 

Let not the iron tread 
Of the mad war-horse crush my helmed head ; 

Nor let the reeking knife 
That I have drawn against a brother's life, 

Be in my hand, when death 
Thunders along and tramples me beneath 

His heavy squadron's heels, 
Or gory felloes of his cannon's wheels. 

From such a dying bed, 
Though o'er it float the stripes of white and red, 

And the bald Eagle brings 
The clustered stars upon his wide-spread wings, 

To sparkle in my sight, 
O, never let my spirit take her flight. 

I know that beauty's eye 
Is all the brighter when gay penants fly, 

And brazen helmets dance, 
And sunshine flashes on the lifted lance : — 

I know that bards have sung, 
And people shouted till the welkin rung, 

In honor of the brave, 
Who on the battle field have found a grave ; 

I know that o'er their bones, 
Have grateful hands piled monumental stones. 

Some of these piles I've seen : — 
The one at Lexington, upon the green, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 20'3 

Where the first blood was shed, 
That to my country's independence led ; 

And others, on our shore, 
" The battle monument," at Baltimore, 

And that on Bunker's Hill, 
Aye, and abroad, a few more famous still. 

Thy " Tomb," Themistocles, 
That looks out yet upon the Grecian seas, 

And which the waters kiss, 
That issue from the gulf of Salamis ; — v 

And thine, too, have I seen, 
Thy mound of earth, Patroclus, robed in green, 

That, like a natural knoll, 
Sheep climb, and nibble over, as they stroll, 

Watched by some turban 'd boy, 
Upon the margin of the plain of Troy. 

Such honors grace the bed, 
I know, whereon the warrior lays his head, 

And hears, as life ebbs out, 
The conquered flying, and the conqueror's shout. 

But as his eyes grow dim, 
What is a column, or a mound, to him? 

What, to the parting soul, 
The mellow notes of bugles ? What the roll 

Of drums ? No — let me die 
Where the blue heaven bends o'er me lovingly, 

And the soft summer air, 
As it goes by me,' stirs my thin, white hair, 

And, from my forehead, dries 
The death-damp, as it gathers, and the skies 

Seem waiting to receive 
My soul to their clear depths ! Or, let me leave 

The world, when, round my bed, 
Wife, children, weeping friends are gathered, 

And the calm voice of prayer . 
And holy hymning shall my soul prepare 

To go and be at rest, 
With kindred spirits who have blessed 



20G NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

The human brotherhood 
By labors, cares, and counsels for their good. 

And in my dying hour, 
When riches, fame, and honor have no power 

To bear the spirit up, 
Or from my lips to turn aside the cup. 

That all must drink at last, 
0, let me draw refreshment from the past ! 

Then, let my soul run back, 
With peace and joy, along my earthly track, 

And see that all the seeds 
That I have scattered there, in virtuous deeds, 

Have sprung up, and have given, 
Already, fruits of which to taste in heaven ! 

And, though no grassy mound 
Or granite pile, say, 'tis heroic ground, 

Where my remains repose, 
Still will I hope — vain hope, perhaps — that those, 

Whom I have striven to bless, — 
The wanderer reclaimed, the fatherless — 

May stand around my grave, 
With the poor prisoner and the poorer slave, — 

And breathe an humble prayer, 
That they may die like him whose bones are 
mouldering there. 



LESSON LXXXIX. 
Hours of Idleness. — Wordsworth. 

There is no remedy for time misspent, 
No healing for the waste of idleness, 



PIECES FOR READING AND KECLAMATION. 207 

Whose very languor is a punishment 

Heavier than active souls can feel or guess. 

O hours of indolence and discontent, 

Not now to be redeemed ! ye sting not less 

Because I know this span of life was lent 
For lofty duties, not for selfishness ; 

Not to be whiled away in aimless dreams, 
But to improve ourselves and serve mankind, 
Life and its choicest faculties were given. 

Man should be ever better than he seems : 
And shape his acts, and discipline his mind, 
To walk adorning earth, with hope of heaven ! 



LESSON XC. 
Fame. — Joanna Baillie. 

Oh ! who shall lightly say that fame 
Is nothing but an empty name ! 
Whilst in that sound there is a charm 
The nerves to brace, the heart to warm, 
As, thinking of the mighty dead, 

The young from slothful couch will start, 
And vow, with lifted hands upspread, 

Like them to act a noble part 1 

Oh ! who shall lightly say that fame 
Is nothing but an empty name ! 
When, but for that, our mighty dead, 

All ages past a blank would be, 
Sunk in oblivion's murky bed — 

A desert bare, a shipless sea 1 
They are the distant objects seen — 
The lofty marks of what hath been. 

Oh ! who shall lightly say that fame 
Is nothing but an empty name ! 
When mem 'ry of the mighty dead 

To earth-worn pilgrim's wistful eye, 
The brightest rays of cheering shed, 

That point to immortality ! 



208 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON XCI. 
Young Men. — Rev. Dr. Olin. 

Young men alone can be fully adapted to the special 
exigencies of their own times. Those who have been long 
engaged in any department of action acquire habits favorable 
to success in their particular pursuit, which often become a 
disqualification under a change of circumstances, or for new 
enterprises. The middle-aged pastor will generally be 
found essentially unfit for the new duties and ideas of mis- 
sionary life. He cannot learn -strange languages, and inure 
himself to new climates and modes .of life. The young man, 
on the contrary, has nothing to unlearn. He is pliable and 
plastic, ready to be moulded into any form of physical and 
mental activity, which the exigencies of the times may de- 
mand. 

When the French revolution had brought on a crisis in 
human affairs unknown in the world's previous history, old 
statesmen and old generals were found universally unfit for 
the new exigency, and supreme power, civil and military, 
passed, as if in obedience to some hidden law, to the vigorous 
hands of Napoleon, and Pitt, and Talleyrand, and Welling- 
ton, all young men, who took their character from the crisis, 
and in their turn impressed it upon the times. Several of 
our great benevolent enterprises, which* are rapidly extend- 
ing their influences to the remotest nations of the earth, were 
projected by young men, while they were still undergradu- 
ates ; and Mills, and Judson, and Newell, passed imme- 
diately from the schools into the distant lands where they 
laid the foundations of Christian empires. Young men have 
usually been Heaven's chosen depositaries of new and great 
ideas, and its chosen instruments for effecting beneficent 
revolutions. They soonest hear, and most deeply feel, the 
appeals of suffering humanity, and their character most 
readily conforms itself to the hue and pressure of their era. 

For prudent counsels, and the conduct of grave negotia- 
tions ; for the conservation of holy truths and time-honored 
institutions, for the safe management of the great trusts and 
established interests of human society, we are to look to the 
serene, unimpassioned wisdom of more advanced life ; but 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 209 

new and difficult enterprises, and daring moral adventures 
that are without precedent in the memory of the aged, must, 
for the most part, expect to enlist their champions from the 
ranks of buoyant, unhackneyed youth. This is eminently 
the period of mental and bodily vigor and power. The 
warm blood courses bravely through the veins ; and every 
limb and muscle rejoices in action. The bosom swells with 
high hopes, which disappointment has not yet chilled with 
its paralyzing touch. The young are wont to place confi- 
dence in man, in human improvement, in truth, and in the 
power of endeavor. Experience has not yet made them 
timid, nor broken the spirit of adventure. The future rises 
up before them, gorgeous with rich promise, and opulent in 
hidden resources. Religion chastens, but it does not dim 
these vivid conceptions and lofty aspirations of the young. 
Very often, indeed, the discoveries of faith far outstrip and 
outshine the visions of fancy ; and what was sheer extrava- 
gance in the expectations of the natural man, becomes an 
object of sober and reasonable pursuit with him, who has re- 
ceived an endowment of strength from on high. 

It is a great point gained when we can get young men, 
constitutionally prone to adventure and activity, who love 
labor, and fear nothing — whose bounding hearts impel them 
onward, as if conscious that to will and to achieve were tasks 
equally feasible — it is a great thing to get all these elements 
of efficiency fairly embarked in some holy enterprise, in 
which the smallest degree of success might satisfy the most 
ardent ambition, and the grandeur and certainty of whose 
triumphs can sustain the spirit of man under all the vicissi- 
tudes of hope deferred. Here is found precisely that con- 
junction of circumstances which is most favorable to the 
highest development of the best qualities of the heart and the 
intellect. The inspiration of an object divinely sublime, and 
yet in closest contact with all the benevolent feelings ; the 
prospect of a glorious reward, acting without prejudice to 
conscious, disinterested philanthropy — infallible guarantees 
of ultimate, complete success — offer a combination of motives 
that cannot fail to exalt the human powers to their utmost 
capacity, and even to make ordinary men great. 



210 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON XCII. 
TJie Proper Object of Ambition. — W. H. Allen, LL.D. 

The life of man is divided into two parts by a constantly 
and uniformly moving point, which we call the present. To 
you, the future is pregnant with more intense interest than 
the past. In the order of nature it will be the larger portion 
of your lives, and in its bearing on others the more impor- 
tant portion. Hope points you now to the pathway of suc- 
cess, and gilds your horizon with rainbow hues. You are 
no longer to con the roll and rehearse your parts behind the 
scenes, but to step forward upon' the open stage of life's 
theatre, to meet the gaze and stand the scrutiny of the 
crowded benches. No wonder, that with palpitating hearts 
you await their decision upon your merits — the plaudit, or the 
hiss. You all expect success. If you take the right direc- 
tion you may all attain it. There is a race in which all 
who run may win the prize. It is the race of goodness. 
There is another in which few can win, and the garland 
withers on their brow. It is the race of selfishness. 

Do you desire fame ? She is capricious. 

" Whom she praised to-day, 
Vexing his ear with acclamations loud, 
And roaring round him with a thousand tongues, 
To-morrow blamed and hissed him out of sight." 

Such always has been and always will be the fate of him 
"who loves the praise of men more than the praise of God." 
It is indeed gratifying to hear the approbation of our fellow- 
men ; but much more to feel the approbation of our own 
consciences. When, therefore, we cannot secure both, it 
will conduce more to our happiness to obey the " still small 
voice" within, rather than the clamour from without. 

Do you desire power ? You are girding yourselves for a 
doubtful and hazardous conflict. Unforeseen difficulties 
await you. Ponder well before you make up your minds to 
the issue. The world that now seems to smile as you come 
forward to salute it, will soon prove itself cold, and selfish, 
and treacherous. Your coadjutors will be men engaged 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 211 

each in his own schemes of self-aggrandizement. A thou- 
sand rivals, unscrupulous of means, will jostle you on your 
way. 

If you fall, malignity will trample you under foot, and 
the laugh of satire, mingled with the howl of hate, will 
be your requiem. If you outstrip your competitors, envy 
will pursue you with her spiteful gall, and calumny assail 
you with her poisonous breath. There is nothing to which 
the world seems so averse as to a man's rising above the 
condition in which he was born. Strong sinews must that 
man have, who can force his way upward, while all below 
are holding him back, and all above are pressing him down. 
Strong swimmer must he be, who can make headway 
against a rapid current with a mill-stone about his neck. 
Yet such is the condition of the man who strives to rise above 
his fellows ; and where one buffets with vigorous arms the 
baffling tide, and comes safely and triumphantly to land, 
ten 

" Sink into the depths with "babbling groan." 

Truly has it been said of the honored slave of ambition — 

" He that ascends the mountain tops shall find 
The loftiest peaks most wrapped in clouds and snow; 

He that surpasses, or subdues mankind, 
Must look down on the hate of those below. 
Though high above the sun of glory glow, 

And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, 
Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow 

Contending tempests on his naked head, 
And thus reward the toil which to those summits led." 



LESSON XCIII. 

On the Being of a God. — Young. 

Retire ; — the world shut out — thy thoughts call home ! 

Imagination's airy wing repress ; 

Lock up thy senses ; — let no passion stir ; — 

Wake all to Reason ; — let her reign alone : — 



212 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Then, in thy soul's deep silence, and the depth 
Of nature's silence, — midnight, thus inquire, 
As I have done ; and shall inquire no more. 
In Nature's channel, thus the questions run. 

What ami? and from whence 1 I nothing know, 
But that I am ; and, since I am, conclude 
Something eternal. Had there e'er been nought, 
Nought still had been ; eternal there must be. 
But what eternal 1 — why not human race ; 
And Adam's ancestors without an end 1 — 
That's hard to be conceived ; since every link 
Of that long-chain' d succession is so frail : 
Can every part depend, and not the whole 1 
Yet, grant it true, new difficulties rise : 
I'm still quite out at sea, nor see the shore. 
Whence earth, and these bright orbs ] — eternal, too '?— 
Grant matter was eternal ; still these orbs 
Would want some other father. Much design 
Is seen in all their motions, all their makes. 
Design implies intelligence and art ; 
That can't be from themselves — or man ; that art 
Man scarce can comprehend, could man bestow ] 
And nothing greater, yet allowed than man. — 
Who, motion, foreign to the smallest grain, 
Shot through vast masses of enormous weight ] 
Who bade brute matter's restive lump assume 
Such various forms, and gave it wings to fly ] 
Has matter innate motion 1 then, each atom, 
Asserting its indisputable right 
To dance, would form a universe of dust. 
Has matter none % then whence these glorious forms, 
And boundless flights, from shapeless, and reposed % 
Has matter more than motion % Has it thought, 
Judgment, and genius 1 Is it deeply learn'd 
In mathematics ] Has it framed such laws, 
Which, but to guess, a Newton made immortal 1 — 
If so, how each sage atom laughs at me, 
Wlio think a clod inferior to a man ! 
If art, to form ; and counsel to conduct — 
And that with greater far than human skill, 
Resides not in each block ; — a Godhead reigns.— 
And, if a God there is, that God how great ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 213 

LESSON XCIV. 
Moral and Religious Culture. — Rev. E. W. Sehon, D.D. 

That the present is an age of improvement, is a sentiment 
which has been uttered and reiterated so often, that from its 
triteness we fail to realize the profit to which the pursuit of 
the theme might lead us. 

In all that pertains to the improvement of mind or matter, 
this truth speaks forcibly in the facts which are everywhere 
spread before us. If everything that is new were a real ac- 
quisition to the happiness of our race, and promoted the 
great objects of our being, then we would have nothing to 
do but admire, approve, and enjoy. But unfortunately such 
is not the fact. While the fair tree of knowledge offers us 
her inviting fruit, wooing our approach, and courting our 
taste, there is much of evil as well as good, which lies be- 
fore us. To pluck and eat indiscriminately, would, but in 
too many instances, be injurious and fatal. 

Is there, then, no antidote, no remedy, by which, while 
we choose the good, the evil may be left ? We answer 
there is. In a " moral and religious education," having 
the word of God for its foundation, we find this antidote. 
This education should commence with the first lessons of 
life, that every advancement in knowledge may be an ad- 
vancement in virtue. To this early moral and religious 
training, the Bible everywhere claims our attention ; and 
those who profess to believe and receive that book should 
implicitly follow its commands. Here first impressions 
stamp the character for future life. Here the passions are 
moulded and the habits formed, which for weal or woe, in 
time and eternity, will cling to their possessor. The neces- 
sity of thus commencing with the budding of life this course 
of instruction, has been forcibly taught by the wisest of 
men in the direction, " Train up a child in the way he 
should go, and, when he is old he will not depart from it;" 
while one of the great minds of the heathen world, unen- 
lightened by divine revelation, has observed, that he re- 
solved " the whole business of legislation into the bringing 
up of youth." 

We are happy to believe that in this country we are 



214 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

waking up to the importance of this fact. A desire for a 
more extended, yea, a universal system of education, moral, 
and religious in its character, seems now to be pervading 
the community. Hence our excellent system of common 
school instruction, with open-handed charity, offers its bless- 
ings alike to all. And it is pleasing to know that the Bible 
is becoming one of the chief books of instruction. While 
dwelling with honest pride and exultation upon the liberty 
and advantages of our country, let us ever remember that 
the perpetuity of our free institutions depends upon the virtue 
and intelligence of the people, and that these lessons should 
be promptly, early, and universally commenced. 



LESSON XCV. 

Henry V.'s Speech before the Battle of Agincourt. — Shak 

SPEARE. 

What's he that wishes for more men from England ? 

My*cousin Westmoreland ! — No, my fair cousin ; 

If we are mark'd to die, we are enow 

To do our country loss ; and, if to live, 

The fewer men, the greater share of honour. 

No, no, my lord ! wish not a man from England ! 

Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, throughout my host, 

That he who hath no stomach to this fight, 

May straight depart : his passport shall be made, 

And crowns for convoy put into his purse : 

We would not die in that man's company ! 

This day is called the Feast of Crispian. 
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, 
Will stand a-tiptoe when this day is named, 
And rouse him at the name of Crispian ! 
He that outlives this day, and sees old age, 
Will, yearly on the vigil, feast his neighbors : 
And say — To-morrow is Saint Crispian ! 
Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars. 

Old men forget, yet shall not all forget, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 2)5 

But they'll remember with advantages, 
What feats they did that day. Then shall our names, 
Familiar in their mouths as household words, — 
Hairy the king, Bedford and Exeter, 
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Glo'ster, — 
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered. 
This story shall the good man teach his son ; 
And Crispin Crispian's day shall ne'er go by, 
From this time to the ending of the world, 
But we in it shall be remember' d ; 
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ! 
For he, to-day, that sheds his blood with me, 
Shall be my brother — be he e'er so vile, 
This day shall gentle his condition ; 
And, gentlemen in England, now a-bed, 
Shall think themselves accursed they weie not here ; 
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks 
That fought with us upon Saint Crispian's day. 



LESSON XCVI. 

Rolla to the Peruvians.— Sheridan. 

My brave associates ! — partners of my toil, my feelings, 
and my fame ! Can Rolla's words add vigour to the virtu- 
ous energies which inspire your hearts 1 — No ; — you have 
judged, as I have, the foulness of the crafty plea by which 
these bold invaders would delude you. — Your generous 
spirit has compared, as mine has, the motives which, in a 
war like this, can animate their minds and ours. — They, 
by a strange frenzy driven, fight for power, for plunder, 
and extended rule ; — we, for our country, our altars, and 
our homes. — They follow an adventurer whom they fear, 
and obey a power which they hate ; — we serve a monarch 
whom we love, — a God whom we adore. — Whene'er they 
move in anger, desolation tracks their progress ! — When- 
e'er they pause in amity, affliction mourns their friendship. 
— They boast they come but to improve our state, enlarge 
our thoughts, and free us from the yoke of erroi ! — Yes — 
they — they will give enlightened freedom to our minds, 
who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and 



216 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



pride ! — They offer us their protection — yes, such protec- 
tion as vultures give to lambs — covering and devouring 
them ! — They call on us to barter all of good we have in- 
herited and proved, for the desperate chance of something 
better which they promise. — Be our plain answer this : 
The throne we honour, is the people's choice — the laws 
we reverence, are our brave fathers' legacy — the faith we 
follow, teaches us to live in the bonds of charity with all 
mankind, and die with the hope of bliss beyond the grave 
— Tell your invaders this, and tell them, too, we seek no 
change ; and least of all, such change as they would bring 



LESSON XCVII. 

Cato's Soliloquy on the Immortality of the Soul. — Addison. 

It must be so — Plato, thou reason'st well ! — 

Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, 

This longing after immortality 1 

Or, whence this secret dread, and inward horror, 

Of falling into nought % Why shrinks the soul 

Back on herself, and startles at destruction 1 — 

'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us ; 

'Tis Heaven itself that points out an Hereafter, 

And intimates Eternity to man ! 

Eternity ! — thou pleasing — dreadful thought ! 

Through what variety of untried being, 

Through what new scenes and changes, must we pass ! 

The wide, the unbounded prospect, lies before me — 

Bat shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it. 

Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us — 

And that there is, all Nature cries aloud 

Through all her works — He must delight in virtue ; 

And that which He delights in, must be happy. 

But when ] or where ! This world was made for Cassai. 

I'm weary of conjectures — this must end them. 

[Laying his hand on his sword* 
Thus am I doubly arm'd : — My death and life, 
My bane and antidote , are both before me. 
This — in a moment — brings me to an end ; 
But this — informs me I shall never die ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 

The soul, secure in her existence, smiles 
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. — 
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years ; 
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, 
Unhurt amid the war of elements, 
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds ! 



LESSON XCV1II. 

TJie Coral Grove. — J. G-. Percival. 

Deep in the wave is a coral grove. 

Where the purple mullet and goldfish rove, 

Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue, 

That never are wet with falling dew, 

But in bright and changeful beauty shine, 

Far down in the green and glassy brine ; 

The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift, 

And the pearl shells spangle the flinty snow ; 
From coral rocks the sea-plants lift 

Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow ; 
The water is calm and still below, 

For the winds and waves are absent there, 
And the sands are bright as the stars that glow 

In the motionless fields of upper air : 
There with its waving blade of green, 

The sea-flag streams through the silent water, 
And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen 

To blush, like a banner bathed in slaughter : 
There, with a light and easy motion, 

The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea 
And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean 

Are bending like corn on the upland lea : 
And life, in rare and beautiful forms, 

Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, 
And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms 

Has made the top of the wave his own : 
And when the ship from his fury flies, 

Where the myriad voices of ocean roar, 
When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, 

And demons are waiting the wreck on shore ; 

G 



218 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Then far below in the peaceful sea, 
The purple mullet and goldfish rove, 

Where the waters murmur tranquilly, 

Through the bending twigs of the coral grove. 



LESSON XCIX. 

Night. — Rev. Abel Stevens. 

The very obscurity which darkness spreads over the 
brighter scenes around us, adds to the impressiveness of the 
grander features of nature. Daylight is necessary to ap- 
preciate the beauty of individual objects — the shrub, or tree 
— but the great forest appears most imposing in the subdued 
light of the night. The flower-garden needs the day, but 
the firmament, the mountains, the far-extending plains, re- 
ceive new grandeur from the night. 

Whatsoever is sublime in nature is enhanced by the 
night. Nor is it deficient in beauty. Though minute 
beauties fade from the sight under its shadows, they only 
give way to beauty more extended, more tranquil, and more 
elevating. The moon-lit lake ; the river, gliding now in 
shadow, now in the mild brightness ; the half-illumined 
landscape ; the forest glades, with their shadowy aisles and 
colonnades, and cathedral solemnities; the stars, "beautiful 
as the eyes of cherubim:" the queen of the night herself, 
with her bland radiance and placid majesty — these have a 
beauty which no day scenes can rival. 

Night is not only rich in the beauty and sublimity of its 
picturesque relations, but also in their variety. Its succes- 
sive periods present a series of striking dioramic scenes. 
First comes the twilight, with its poetic association and 
tranquillizing effect. The shadows, subtended from the 
mountains, are prolonged and deepened, filling the ravines 
and vales with the growing darkness, while the declining 
light still lingers in tints upon the clouds of the horizon, as 
in the dim golden suffusion of the zenith. 

The heated atmosphere is refreshed by a cooler tempera- 
ture ; animated nature ceases its toiling activity, and its din 
is hushed into the murmur of the insects and the evening 
notes of here and there a solitary bird. The lowing herds 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 219 

wend their way over the landscape to their night shelter ; 
and the husbandman, fatigued with labors, seeks repose at 
his cottage door. The evening star emerges from the deep- 
ening gloom of the heavens, and then planet after planet, 
sun after sun, and constellation after constellation, come 
forth to heighten, by their individual lustre, the general 
magnificence. What a panorama of splendors does the 
celestial vault now present, to either the scientific or poetic 
eye ! How the star-lit immensity spreads out above us, 
amplifying our own consciousness, and inspiring the soul 
with a pervading and mysterious awe ! 

Our vision, limited during the day to the compass of a 
few miles, now stretches itself over hundreds of millions, 
into the illimitable space ; and the eye gazes on spheres ap- 
pallingly sublime in their distance and magnitude, and 
drinks in radiation that darted from them, before " the morn- 
ing stars sang together," over our own creation ; spheres 
which, though wheeling through -circuits of millions after 
millions of miles, are so remote that their stupendous mo- 
tions are lost from our view, and their apparent positions 
deviate not an iota from hour to hour, and night to night. 
Who, that amidst the stillness of the night, looks forth upon 
this overpowering display of the universe, is not smitten 
with awe, and does not admit that the glory of the night has 
no parallel in the reality or poetry of the day ! 

Several of the noblest features of natural scenery are most 
impressive at night ; such, as has been remarked, is the case 
with mountainous outlines, forests, and extended plains. 
He that would appreciate the peculiar sublimity of the prairie 
scenery of the west, must travel those vast levels in the si- 
lence of the moonlit night. The scenery of the sea is also en- 
hanced by the night incomparably above its appearance by day. 



LESSON C. 

Infancy. — Rev. E. Thomson, D.D. 

Seated last Sabbath in the altar of a crowded church, 
and sympathizing with a large assembly which was rather 
impatiently waiting for the arrival of a distinguished preacher, 



220 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

my attention was suddenly attracted by a gentleman who 
advanced slowly up the aisle. Time had whitened his 
temples, care had ploughed his cheek, and affliction had 
evidently opened the fountain of his tears, and spread over 
his countenance that softened expression on which the eye 
of the musing soul loves to rest. He bore in his arms an 
infant wrapped with unusual care. 

Throwing one covering after another over his arm, he at 
length disclosed the treasure so carefully concealed. It was 
a babe of extraordinary beauty. Its brow was of marble 
whiteness, its cheek of rosy hue, and its sparkling eye of 
almost unearthly lustre. How beautiful, thought I, is the 
human form ! This is an abode worthy a new-made angel 
— this is a temple fitted for the indwelling of the Holy 
Ghost ! 

How innocent the human infant ! No unholy thought 
has disturbed this intellect — no unworthy purpose has agi- 
tated this bosom — no transgression has polluted this char- 
acter: and though " engendered of the offspring of Adam, 
yet the free gift descends upon it, and, if translated to 
heaven,- it could share the bliss, and swell the song of the 
upper sanctuaiy. Were the Saviour in this temple, doubt- 
less he would take this child in his arms and bless it, saying, 
" Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them 
not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." 

How dignified is the human infant ! Here is' but a little 
particle of perishing dust, yet: who can tell what destinies 
it may wield ! Within its bosom there slumber passions, 
whose outbursting may convulse the nations. Beneath its 
skull there lies an intellect that may illuminate the world, 
comprehend the universe, adore its Author, inscribe its 
name in eternal histories, and shine in everlasting and pro- 
gressive glory, among the highest order of the heavenly 
hierarchy. No wonder that it has an angel, who beholds 
the face of its Father in heaven continually. And can we 
on earth behold it with indifference ? Blessed creature, 
thought I, I wfll pray for thee, that thou mayest be guided 
by a Divine hand through this world of sorrow to the realms 
above. 

How helpless the human infant ! All other creatures have 
some ability for defence or escape, some judgment in rela- 
tion to nourishment and danger ; but man, the lord of the 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 221 

lower world, comes into existence entirely dependant upon 
the ministry of others. 



LESSON CI. 
On Arming for War with England, Dec. 1811. — H. Clay. 

Gentlemen have inquired, what will be gained by the 
contemplated war 1 I ask, in turn, what will you not lose 
by your mongrel state of peace with Great Britain 1 Do 
you expect to gain any thing in a pecuniary view ] No, 
sir. Look at your treasury reports. We now receive 
only six millions of revenue annually ; and this amount 
must be diminished in the same proportion as the rigourous 
execution of the orders in council shall increase. Before 
these orders existed, we received sixteen millions. We 
lose, then, to the amount of ten millions of revenue per an- 
num by our present peace. A war would produce the re- 
peal of the orders in council ; and our revenue would be 
restored, our commerce would nourish, our wenlth and 
prosperity would advance. 

But England, it seems, is fighting the battles of mankind ; 
and we are asked, shall we weaken her magnanimous ef- 
forts 1 For argument's sake, let us concede the fact, that 
the French Emperor is aiming at universal empire; can 
Great Britain challenge our synrpathies, when, instead of 
putting forth her arms to protect the world, she has con- 
verted the war into a means of self-aggrandizement ; when, 
under pretence of defending them, she has destroyed the 
commerce and trampled on the rights of every nation ; — 
when she has attempted to annihilate every vestige of the 
public maritime code of which she professes to be the 
champion'? Shall we bear the cuffs and scoffs of British arro- 
gance, because we may entertain chimerical fears of French 
subjugation 1 Shall we swallow the potion of British poi- 
son, lest we may be presented with the imperial dose 1 — 
Are we called upon to bow to the mandates of royal inso- 
lence, as a preparation to contend against Gallic usurpa- 
tion 1 

Who ever learned in the school of base submission, the 
lessons of noble freedom, and courage, and independence? 
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222 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Look at Spain. Did she secure her independence by sub- 
mitting, in the first instance, to the dictates of imperial 
usurpations 1 No, sir. If she had resisted the first intru- 
sion into her councils, her monarch would not at this time 
be a miserable victim in the dungeons of Marseilles. We 
cannot secure our independence of one power, by a das- 
tardly submission to the will of another. But look at our 
own history. Our ancestors of the Revolution resisted the 
first encroachments of British tyranny. They foresaw that 
by submitting to pay an illegal tax, contemptible as that 
was in itself, their liberties would ultimately be subverted. 

Consider the progress of the present disputes with Eng- 
land. For what were we contending the other day ] For 
the indirect colonial carrying trade. That has vanished. 
For what are we now deliberating ] For the direct export 
and import trade ; the trade in our own cotton, and tobac- 
co, and fish. Give this up, and to-morrow we must take 
up arms for our right to pass from New York to New Or- 
leans ; from the upper country on James River to Richmond. 

Sir, when did submission to one wrong, induce an adver- 
sary to cease his encroachments on the party submitting ] 
But we are told that we ought only to go to war when our 
territory is invaded. How much better than invasion is 
the blocking of our very ports and harbours, insulting our 
towns, plundering our merchants, and scouring our coasts 1 
If our fields are surrounded, are they in a better condition 
than if invaded % When the murderer is at our doors, 
shall we meanly skulk to our cells ] Or shall we boldly 
oppose him at his entrance % 



LESSON CII. 

Love. — Southey. 

They sin who tell us love can die ; — 

With life all other passions fly, 

All others aie but vanity. 

In heaven ambition cannot dwell, 

Nor avarice in the vaults of hell ; — 

Earthly these passions, as of earth, 

They perish when they have their birth. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 223 

But love is indestructible, — 

Its holy flame for ever burnetii, — 

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth; 

Too oft on earth a troubled guest, 

At times deceived, at times opprest ; 

It here is tried and purified, 

And hath in heaven its perfect rest; 

It soweth here with toil and care, 

But the harvest time of Love is there. 

Oh ! when a mother meets on high 

The babe she lost in infancy, 

Hath she not then, for pains and fears, 

The day of woe, the anxious night, 
For all her sorrow, all her tears, 

An over-payment of delight ! 



LESSON cm. 
America to Great Britain. — Washington Allston. 

All hail ! thou noble land, 
Our fathers' native soil ! 
Oh, stretch thy mighty hand, 
Gigantic grown by toil, 
O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore : 
For thou, with magic might, 
Canst reach to where the light 
Of Phoebus travels bright 
The world o'er ! 

The Genius of our clime, 

From his pine-embattled steep, 
Shall hail the great sublime ; 
While the Tritons of the deep 
With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim, 
Then let the world combine — 
O'er the main our naval line, 
Like the milky way, shall shine 
Bright in fame ! 
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224> NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Though ages long have passed 

Since our fathers left their home, 
Their pilot in the blast, 

O'er untravell'd seas to roam, — 
Yet lives the blood of England in our veins! 
And shall we not proclaim 
That blood of honest fame, 
Which no tyranny can tame 
By its chains 1 

While the language, free and bold, 

Which the bard of Avon sung, 
In which our Milton told 

How the vault of heaven rung, 
When Satan, blasted, fell with all his host; 
While this, with reverence meet, 
Ten thousand echoes greet, 
From rock to rock repeat 
Round our coast ; 

While the manners, while the arts, 

That mould a nation's soul, 
Still cling around our hearts, 
Between let ocean roll, 
Our joint communion breaking with the sun: 
Yet, still, from either beach, 
The voice of blood shall reach, 
More audible than speech, 
" We are one !" 



LESSON CIV. 

Cardinal Wolsey's Speech to Cromwell. — Shakspeare. 

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear, 

In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me, 

Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 

Let's dry our eyes, and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; 

And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 

And sleep in dull, cold marble, where no mention 

Of me must more be heard ; say, then, I taught thee— 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 225 

Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, 

And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, 

Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 

A sure and safe one — though thy master miss'd it. 

Mark but my fall, and that which ruin'd me: 

Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ! 

By that sin fell the angels ; how can man, then, 

The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't 1 

Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee : 

CoiTuption wins not more than honesty. 

Still, in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. 

Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 

Thy God's, and truth's : then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, 

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king; 

And, — Pr'ythee, lead me in 

There take an inventory of all I have ; 

To the last penny, — 'tis the king's. My robe, 

And my integrity to Heaven, are all 

I dare now call my own. O Cromwell ! Cromwell 1 

Had I but served my God with half the zeal 

I served my king, he would not, in mine age, 

Have left me naked to mine enemies. 



LESSON CV. 
The Mariner's Dream. — Dimond. 

In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay, 

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind ; 

But, watch-wom and weary, his cares flew away, 
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. 

He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers, 
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn ; 

While memory stood sideways, half cover'd with flowers, 
And restored every rose, but secreted the thorn. 

Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide, 
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise ; 

Now, far, far behind him the green waters glide, 
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. 
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226 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch, 

And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall ^ 

All trembling with transport he raises the latch, 
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. 

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight, 

His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear ; 

And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite 

"With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. 

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, 
Joy quickens his pulse — all his hardships seem o'er; 

And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest — 
" Oh God ! thou hast blest me, I ask for no more." 

Ah ! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye ! 

Ah! what is that sound that now 'larums his ear? 
'Tis the lightning's red glare painting hell on the sky ! 

'Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere! 

He springs from his hammock — he flies to the deck; 

Amazement confronts him with images dire ; — 
"Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck, 

The masts fly in splinters — the shrouds are on fire ! 

Like mountains the billows tumultuously swell, 
In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save; — 

Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, 

And the death-angel flaps his broad wings o'er the wave. 

Oh, sailor boy ! woe to thy dream of delight ! 

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss ; — 
Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright, 

Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss? 

Oh, sailor boy ! sailor boy ! never again 

Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay ; 

Unbless'd and unhonour'd, down deep in the main 
Full many a score fathom thy frame shall decay. 

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, 
Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge ; 

But the white foam of waves shall thy winding sheet be. 
And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge. 



PIECES FOR READING AXD DECLAMATION. 227 

On beds of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid, 
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow; 

Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made, 
And every part suit to thy mansion below. 

Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away, 
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll ; 

Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye — 

Oh, sailor boy! sailor boy ! peace to thy soul ! 



LESSON CVL 
Rainy Weather. — W. H. Simmons. 

Gracious Rain ! how long wilt thou vouchsafe thyself to 
us, thankless groundlings % Wilt thou never tire, service- 
able priestess, of thy great lustrations 1 From a thousand 
mountain-torrents, and emerald meads, and imperial rivers 
— from those pleasant homes of thine, the great lakes of 
the wilderness — from thy palace of Ocean — painfully art 
thou ever ascending — suffering the intolerable sun-stroke, 
and expanding to bodiless vapour that thou mayest climb 
the air, and re-gather thy weary atoms — not to sail off, in 
thy gorgeous cloud-squadron, to a better world, or to live 
in soft dalliance forever with the blue heaven and the silver 
star — but to hang anxiously over our unworthy heads, and 
descend seasonably upon city or field, without a murmur, 
from thy hard-earned elevation. 

Ay ! and during that aerial watch of thine, heavenly bene- 
factress ! while thou art waiting to be gracious — temper- 
ing the meridian and unutterably decorating sunset and the 
dawn — art thou not exposed to the rude and wanton winds, 
who rend thy skirts, and hurry thee shivering about the in- 
hospitable skies ] And dost thou not entertain, perforce, 
the lightning — fearful guest ! — deafened with his mon- 
strous music, the thunder-peal, and scorched and riven with 
his fierce love 1 Yet wherefore that toilsome ascent — that 
dread sojourn — but to descend at last, purified by the sub- 
lime ordeal, in beneficent cadence, upon an oft ungrateful 
world 1 Oh ! our offence is rank ! One heart, at least, 
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228 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

hereafter shall humbly and thankfully welcome thee, when 
ever thou fallest " sweet rain from heaven, upon the place 
beneath." Whether in the genial infusion of thy fitful 
April favours, or in the copious and renovating magnifi- 
cence of the summer shower, or under thy heavy equinoc- 
tial dominion, or in the loud, black storm — wintry or au- 
tumnal ; welcome — ever welcome — in all thy seasons and 
in all thy moods ! 

For in none, fair minister, art thou not benignant ; in 
the least amiable of them, most singularly dost thou deserve 
our love. Well would it please thee, doubtless, to usher 
in perpetual May-mornings with a soft suffusion — to fall 
never but when fanned by zephyrs and the sweetest south- 
west — or from the breathless skies of June, when a verdant 
world pants for thy bountiful down- coming ! And do we 
upbraid thee, in our heartless stupidity, because, rather 
than withhold thy life-giving dispensations, thou allayest 
thy gentle nature with thy opposites, and comest in unwel- 
come company — in chilly league with Eurus, or riding on 
the stormy wings of night-confounding Aquilo — subduing 
him to thy soft purpose, and charming away his rage — da- 
ring all things, so thou mayst reach and nourish the bosom 
of thine ancient Mother % Pious child — deal' invader — for- 
give us ! 



LESSON CVII. 

Hannibal to His Soldiers. — Livy. 

On what side soever I turn my eyes, I behold all full 
of courage and strength ; a veteran infantry, a most gal- 
lant cavalry; you, my allies, most faithful and valiant; 
you, Carthaginians, whom not only your country's cause, 
but the justest anger, impels to battle. The hope, the 
courage of assailants, is always greater than of those who 
act upon the defensive. With hostile banners displayed, 
you are come down upon Italy ; you bring the war. — Grief 
injuries, indignities, fire your minds, and spur you forward 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 22 

First, they demand me — that, I, your general, should be 
delivered up to them; next, all of you who had fought at 
the siege cf Saguntum ; and we were to be put to death by 
the extremest tortures. Proud and cruel nation ! every 
thing must be yours, and at your disposal ! You are to 
prescribe to us with whom we shall make war, with whom 
we shall make peace ! You are to set us bounds ; to shut 
us up within hills and rivers ; but you — you are not to ob- 
serve the limits which yourselves have fixed. 

Pass not the Iberus. What next 1 Touch not the Sa- 
guntines ; is Saguntum upon the Iberus 1 move not a step 
towards that city. Is it a small matter, then, that you have 
deprived us of our ancient possessions, Sicily and Sardinia] 
you would have Spain too? Well, we shall yield Spain; 
and then — you will pass into Africa ! Will pass, did I say % 
— this very year they ordered one of their consuls into Af- 
rica, the other into Spain. 

No, soldiers, there is nothing left for us but what we can 
vindicate with our swords. Come on, then — be men. — 
The Romans may with more safety be cowards ; they have 
their own country behind them, have places of refuge to 
flee to, and are secure from danger in the roads thither; 
but for you, there is no middle fortune between death and 
victory. Let this be but well fixed in your minds, and 
once again, I say, you are conquerors. 



LESSON CVIII. 
Marco Bozzaris. — Halleck. 

At midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 

Should tremble at his power : 
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror : 

In dreams his song of triumph heard ; 
Then wore his monarch's signet-ring; 
Then press'd that monarch's throne — a king; 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 

As Eden's garden-bird. 



230 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

At midnight, in the forest shades, 

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, 
True as the steel of their tried blades, 

Heroes in heart and hand. 
There had the Persian's thousands stood, 
There had the glad earth drunk their blood 

On old Plataea's day ; 
And now there breathed that haunted air. 
The sons of sires who conquer'd there, 
With arm to strike, and soul to dare, 

As quick, as far as they. 

An hour pass'd on — the Turk awoke ; 

That bright dream was his last ; 
He woke — to hear his sentries shriek, 
" To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek !' 
He woke — to die midst flame and smoke, 
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, 

And death- shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain-cloud ; 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band : 
" Strike — till the last arm'd foe expires ; 
Strike — for your altars and your fires ; 
Strike — for the green graves of your sires ; 

God — and your native land !" 

They fought — like brave men, long and well ; 
They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; 
They conquer'd — but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile, when rang their proud hurrah, 

And the red field was won : 
Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly, as to a night's repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 
Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 

Rest thee — there is no prouder grave, 
Even in her own proud clime ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 231 

LESSON CIX. 
Hymn to the Stars. — Anonymous. 

Ay ! there ye shine, and there have shone 

In one eternal hour of prime ; 
Each rolling, burningly, alone, 

Through boundless space and countless time I 
Ay ! there ye shine ! the golden dews 

That pave the realms by seraphs trod ; 
There, through yon echoing vault diffuse 

The song of choral worlds to God. 

Ye visible spirits ! bright as erst 

Young Eden's birth-night saw ye shine 
On all her flowers and fountains first, 

Yet sparkling from the hand divine, — 
Yes ! bright as when ye smiled to catch 

The music of a sphere so fair, 
Ye hold your high immortal watch, * 

And gird your God's pavilion there ! 

Gold frets to dust — yet there ye are : 

Time rots the diamond — there ye roll 
In primal light, as if each star 

Enshrined an everlasting soul ! 
And do they not ] Since yon bright throngs 

One all-enlightened Spirit own, 
Praised there by pure sidereal tongues, 

Eternal, glorious, blest, and lone 1 

Could man but see what ye have seen, 

Unfold awhile the shrouded past, 
From all that is, to what has been — 

The glance how rich, the range how vast ! 
The birth of time ; the rise, the fall 

Of empires ; myriads, ages flown ; 
Thrones, cities, tongues, arts, worships, all 

The things whose echoes are not gone ! 

Ye saw red Zoroaster send 

His soul into your mystic reign : 
Ye saw the adoring Sabian bend, 

The living hills his mighty fane ; 



232 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Beneath this blue and beaming sky, 
He worshipped at your lofty shrine, 

And deemed he saw with gifted eye, 
The Godhead in his works divine. 

And there ye shine, as if to mock 

The children of an earthly sire : 
The storm, the bolt, the earthquake's shock, 

The red volcano's cataract fire ; 
Drought, famine, plague, and blood, and flame 

All nature's ills, and life's worst woes, 
Are nought to you ; ye smile the same, 

And scorn alike their dawn and close. 

Ay ! there ye roll, emblems sublime 

Of him whose spirit o'er us moves, 
Beyond the clouds of grief and crime 

Still shining on the world he loves. 
Nor is one scene to mortals given 

That more divides the soul and sod, 
Than yon proud heraldry of heaven, 

Yon burning blazonry of God! 



LESSON CX. 

The Passions. — Collins. 

When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
While yet in early Greece she sung, 
The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 
Throng'd around her magic cell ; 
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 
Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting. 
By turns, they felt the glowing mind 
Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined : 
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, 
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspired, 
From the supporting myrtles round 
They snatch'd her instruments of sound; 
And, as they oft had heard apart, 
Sweet "lessons of her forceful art, 
Each — for Madness ruled the hour — 
Would prove his own expressive power. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION 233 

First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try, 

Amid the chords bewilder'd laid ; 
And back recoil'd, he knew not why, 

"Even at the sound himself had made. 

Next, Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, 

In li^htning-s own'd his secret stints : 
In one rude clash he struck the lyre, 

And swept, with hurried hands, the strings. 

With woful measures, wan Despair — 

Low sullen sounds ! — his grief beguiled j 
A solemn, strange, and mingled air ; 



'Twas sad, by fits — by starts, 'twas wild. 

But thou, O Hope ! with eyes so fair, 
What was thy delighted measure ! 
Still it whisper' d promised pleasure, 
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail. 
Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 

She call'd on Echo still through all her song. 
And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; 
And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair. 

And longer had she sung — but with a frown, 

Revenge impatient rose. 
He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down ; 

And, with a withering look, 

The war-denouncing trumpet took. 
And blew a blast, so loud and dread, 
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ; 

And, ever and anon, he beat 

The doubling drum with furious heat. 
And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, 

Dejected Pity, at his side, 

Her soul-subduing voice applied, 
Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien ; 
While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from 
his head. 

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd ; 
Sad proof of thy distressful state ! 



34 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd : 

And, now, it courted Love ; now, raving call'd on Hate 

With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 

Pale Melancholy sat retired ; 

And, from her wild sequester'd seat, 

In notes by distance made more sweet, 
Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul : 
And, dashing soft, from rocks around, 
Bubbling runnels join'd the sound. _ 
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole ; 
Or o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay — 

Round a holy calm diffusing, 

Love of peace and lonely musing — 
In hollow murmurs died away. 

But, oh, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone ! 
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 

Her bow across her shoulders flung, 
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, 

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung ; 
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known ! 

The oak-crown'd sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen, 
Satyrs, and sylvan boys, were seen, 
Peeping from forth their alleys green ; 
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear; 
And Sport leap'd up, and seized his beechen spear 

Last, came Joy's ecstatic trial. 
He, with viny crown advancing, 
First to the liwly pipe his hand address'd ; 

But soon he taw the brisk awakening viol, 
Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. 
They would have thought, who heard the strain, 
They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, 

Amid the festal-sounding shades, 
To some unwearied minstrel dancing; 
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, 
Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round — 
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound ; 
And he, amid his frolic play, 
As if he would the charming air repay. 
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 235 

LESSON CXI. 

Learning not Unfavorable to Religion. — Bishop Emory. 

Next to religion itself, and perhaps to civil order, there is 
no one subject that we can bring before our readers, of 
deeper or more universal importance than that of education. 
If any who read this first sentence shall think it extravagant, 
we beg that they will not therefore throw down the article, 
or turn away from it, but do us, and we hope themselves 
also, the favor to read on. Its subject is one in which every 
individual is interested : every parent and every child ; 
every brother and every sister ; every Christian and every 
citizen. It embraces within its broad and comprehensive 
grasp the entire community, and spreads itself over the 
whole interests of man, from the cradle to the grave, — in 
time and in eternity. " The great design of a liberal educa- 
tion," says the late excellent and judicious Dr. Benjamin 
Rush, " is, to prepare youth for usefulness here, and for 
happiness hereafter." 

That education is uncongenial with, or unfriendly to re- 
ligion, or to any solid and substantial interest of man, is so 
far from being true, that it can have been only in ignorance, 
or in knavery which preys upon ignorance, that such a senti- 
ment ever had an origin. That it should continue to be 
cherished in this age of the world and of Christianity, and 
above all in this country, would be a reflection so deeply dis- 
graceful, that we are anxious to give the fullest and most 
practical proof of its utter falsehood. That ignorance is the 
mother, or the nurse of devotion, of sound morals, of civil or 
religious liberty, or of individual, domestic, or social happi- 
ness, is an idea worthy of the dark superstition, or of the, if 
possible, darker craft, in which it was engendered, and has 
been fostered ; but it is not the doctrine of Christianity. It 
is as diametrically opposite to the one, as it is to the other. 

We cannot indeed be surprised, for it is not surprising, 
that the systems of education heretofore mostly in use, and 
still much too generally so, have had to encounter both the 
apathy of prejudice, and the actual resistance of direct hos- 
tility. It has not been, however, to true and useful learning 
that even the great body of the people have ever manifested 



236 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

any opposition ; but to that empiricism of pretenders, who 
have substituted for learning, the formality of spending in 
halls of learning, so called, a specified time, in passing 
through certain mechanical forms, in order to acquire, as a 
matter of course, the mystic " sheep-skin," and to palm that 
upon the world, and upon the church, as an unquestionable 
proof of learning, and, above all, as an indispensable if not 
sufficient passport to the Christian ministry. It is from such 
literary quackery, and from such attempts to forge for them 
and to fasten upon them chains like these, that the people and 
especially Christian people, who have not so learned Christ, 
recoil in disgust, — and justly. 

" The common people," as Dr. Rush remarks, " do not 
despise scholars because they know more, but because they 
know less than themselves. A mere scholar can call a 
horse or a cow by two or three different names, but he fre- 
quently knows nothing of the qualities or uses of those 
valuable animals." It is the confining the idea of learning 
to that sort of education, — -this wall of separation erected in 
her temple to bar out the body of the people, — that we wish 
to demolish. We wish to throw open the inmost doors of the 
temple to the whole community ; to let them taste as well as 
see the rich repast within, and thereby to make them, from 
practical and fruitful experience of its excellence, the fast 
and steady friends and supporters of all liberal and truly 
useful knowledge. 



LESSON CXII. 

Originality in Literature. — James Strong. 

Every writer cannot be original in matter, but he must be 
so in style, if he would write for immortality ; the former 
element is the product of outward influences, the latter the 
offspring of his own mind. Homer had preoccupied the 
ground in epic poetry, and the iEneid and the Paradise 
Lost were of necessity cast after the same model ; but mark 
how each preserves its identity, and wears the peculiar im- 
print of its author's genius. And this illustrates our doc- 
trine in two respects : first, each chose that region of litera- 



riECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 237 

ture find that department of poesy to which his native bent 
inclined and suited him ; and then marked out his individual 
path, which, without being unique, has yet distinguished him 
from all the world. 

So it is with every classic work ; it must contain internal 
evidence that its author is self-inspired, or it can never be 
admitted into the literary canon. Affectation has more than 
one way of showing itself in literary efforts : ambition aims 
at the startling, and arrives at extravagance ; caution seeks 
sobriety, and only reaches truism : yet bombast has its 
charms, when natural ; and common-place is acceptable, 
when it flows easily from the lip or pen. The chief merit 
of any author or speaker consists, after all, in being himself; 
and when entirely at borne,, all are sure to be interesting. 
Every man has genius, as much as he has a distinguishing 
physiognomy ; his mental peculiarities are his genius, and 
all he has to do, is to cultivate, adorn, and — if need be — 
chasten his peculiar turn of mind, in literature as in every 
sphere, — not seek to stretch or cramp it to the Procrustean 
measure of another's idiosyncrasy. 

The copying of some fancied paragon has ever been the 
general bane of writers ; and most of those who have gained 
speedy applause, have been panderers to some popular taste, 
and then suffered apoplexy in the plethora of vanity from 
their own viands ; while many a name imperishably gilded 
with posthumous fame, has starved in a garret, rather than 
sell its innate birth-right for the vulgar pottage gained at 
the world's dictation. When the obsequious smoothness of 
Dickens, and the mad Germanisms of Carlyle, shall have 
sunk to a gaudy tomb, the polished nerve of Prescott, and 
the native felicity of Irving, will be recognized as the har- 
bingers of a true American literature. 



LESSON CXIII. 
Van Artevelde^s Defence of his Rebellion. — Henry Taylor. 

You speak of insurrections : bear in mind 
Against what rule my father and myself 



238 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Have been insurgent ; whom did we supplant ?— 
There was a time, so ancient records tell, 
There were communities, scarce known by name 
In these degenerate days, but once far-famed, 
Where liberty and justice, hand in hand, 
Ordered the common weal ; where great men grew 
Up to their natural eminence, and none, 
Saving the wise, just, eloquent, were great ; 
Where power was of God's gift, to whom he gave 
Supremacy of merit, the sole means 
And broad highway to power, that ever then 
Was meritoriously administered, 
Whilst all its instruments from first to last, 
The tools of state for service high or low, 
Were chosen for their aptness to those ends 
Which virtue meditates. 

To shake the ground, 
Deep-founded whereupon this structure stood, 
Was verily a crime ; a treason it was, 
Conspiracies to hatch against this state 
And its free innocence. But now, I ask, 
Where is there on God's earth that polity 
Which it is not, by consequence converse, 
A treason against nature to uphold ] 
Whom may we now call free 1 whom great 1 whom 

wise] 
Whom innocent 1 — the free are only they, 
Whom power makes free to execute all ills 
Their hearts imagine ; they are only great 
Whose passions nurse them from their cradles up 
In luxury and lewdness, — whom to see 
Is to despise, whose aspects put to scorn 
Their station's eminence ; the wise, they only 
Who wait obscurely till the bolts of heaven 
Shall break upon the land, and give them light 
Whereby to walk ; the innocent, alas ! 
Poor innocency lies where four roads meet, 
A stone upon her head, a stake driven through her, 
For who is innocent that cares to live ] 
The hand of power doth press the very life 
Of innocency out ! 

What then remains 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 239 

But in the cause of nature to stand forth, 

And turn this frame of things the right side up 1 

For this the hour is come, the sword is drawn, 

And tell your masters, vainly they resist. 

Nature, that slept beneath their poisonous drugs, 

Is up and stirring, and from north and south, 

From east and west, from England and from France, 

From Germany, and Flanders, and Navarre, 

Shall stand against them like a beast at bay. 

The blood that they have shed will hide no longer 

In the blood-sloken soil, but cries to heaven. 

Their cruelties and wrongs against the poor 

Shall quicken into swarms of venomous snakes, 

And hiss through all the earth, till o'er the earth, 

That ceases then from hissings and from groans, 

Rises the song — How are the mighty fallen ! 

And by the peasant's hand ! Low lie the proud ! 

And smitten With the weapons of the poor — 

The blacksmith's hammer and the woodman's axe ! 

Their tale is told ; and for that they were rich, 

And robbed the poor ; and for that they were strong, 

And scourged the weak ; and for that they made laws 

Which turned the sweat of labour's brow to blood, — 

For these their sins the nations cast them out. 

These things come to pass 
From small beginnings, because God is just. 



LESSON CXIV. 

Character of Columbus. — W. Irving. 

The poetical temperament of Columbus is discernible 
throughout all his writings, and in all his actions. It spread 
a golden and glorious world around him, and tinged every 
thing with its own gorgeous colours. It betrayed him into 
visionary speculations, which subjected him to the sneers 
and cavillings of men of cooler and safer, but more grovel- 
ing minds. Such were the conjectures formed on the 
coast of Paria, about the form of the earth, and the situa 
tion of the terrestrial paradise ; about the mines of Ophir, 
in Hispaniola, and of the Aurea Chersonesus, in Veragua; 



24"0 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

and such was the heroic scheme of the crusade, for the re- 
covery of the holy sepulchre. It mingled with his religion, 
and filled his mind with solemn and visionary meditations, 
on mystic passages of the scriptures, and the shadowy 
portents of the prophecies. It exalted his office in his 
eyes, and made him conceive himself an agent sent forth 
upon a sublime and awful mission, subject to impulses and 
supernatural visions from the Deity ; such as the voice he 
imagined spoke to him in comfort, amidst the troubles of 
Hispaniola, and in the silence of the night on the disastrous 
coast of Veragua. 

He was decidedly a visionary, but a visionary of an un 
common and successful kind. The manner in which his 
ardent imagination and mercurial nature were controlled 
by a powerful judgment, and directed by an acute sagaci- 
ty, is the most extraordinary feature in his character. 
Thus governed, his imagination, instead of wasting itself 
in idle soarings, lent wings to his judgment, and bore it 
away to conclusions at which common minds could never 
have arrived ; nay, which they could not perceive when 
pointed out. 

To his intellectual vision it was given, to read in the 
signs of the times, and in the reveries of past ages, the in- 
dications of an unknown world, as soothsayers were said to 
read predictions in the stars, and to foretell events from the 
visions of the night. " His soul," observes a Spanish wri- 
ter, " was superior to the age in which he lived. For him 
was reserved the great enterprise to plough a sea which 
had given rise to so many fables, and to decipher the mys- 
tery of his time." 

With all the visionary fervour of his imagination, its fond- 
est dreams fell short of the reality. He died in ignorance 
of the real grandeur of his discovery. Until his last breath, 
he entertained the idea, that he had merely opened a new 
way to the old resorts of opulent commerce, and had dis- 
covered some of the wild regions of the east. He suppos- 
ed Hispaniola to be the ancient Ophir, which had been visit- 
ed by the ships of Solomon, and that Cuba and Terra Fir- 
ma, were but remote parts of Asia. 

What visions of glory would have broke upon his mind, 
could he have known that he had indeed discovered a new 
continent, equal to the whole of the old world in magnitude, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 241 

and separated by two vast oceans from all the earth hith- 
erto known by civilized man ! and how would his mag- 
nanimous spirit have been consoled, amidst the chills of 
age, and the cares of penury, the neglect of a fickle public^ 
and the injustice of an ungrateful king, could he have an- 
ticipated the splendid empires which were to spread over 
the beautiful world hb had discovered, and the nations and 
tongues and languages which were to fill its lands with 
his renown, and to revere and bless his name to the latest 
posterity ! 



LESSON CXV. 
A Sliip under Full Sail. — R. H. Dana, Jr. 

Notwithstanding all that has been said about the 
beauty of a ship under full sail, there are very few who 
have ever seen a ship, literally, under all her sail. A ship 
coming in or going out of port, with her ordinary sails, 
and perhaps two or three studding-sails, is commonly said 
to be under full sail ; but a ship never has all her sail upon 
her, except when she has a light, steady breeze, very 
nearly, but not quite dead aft, and so regular that it can be 
trusted, and is likely to last for some time. Then, with all 
her sails, light and heavy, and studding-sails, on each side, 
alow and aloft, she is the most glorious moving object in 
the world. Such a sight, very few, even some who have 
been at sea a good deal, have ever beheld ; for from the 
deck of your own vessel you cannot see her, as you would 
a separate object. 

One night, while we were in these tropics, I went out 
to the end of the flying jib-boom, upon some duty, and 
having finished it, turned round, and lay over the boom for 
a long time, admiring the beauty of the sight before me. 
Being so far out from the deck, I could look at the ship, as 
at a separate vessel ; — and there rose up from the water, 
supported only by the small black hull, a pyramid of can- 
vass, spreading out far beyond the hull, and towering up 
almost, as it seemed in the indistinct night air, to the clouds. 

The sea was as still as an inland lake ; the lisrht trade- 



2<±2 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



wind was gently and steadily breathing from astern ; the 
dark blue sky was studded with the tropical stars ; there 
was no sound but the rippling of the water under the 
stem ; and the sails were spread out, wide and high ; — the 
two lower studding-sails stretching, on each side, far be- 
yond the deck; the top-mast studding-sails, like wings to 
the top-sails ; the top-gallant studding-sails spreading fear- 
lessly out above them ; still higher, the two royal studding- 
sails, looking like two kites flying from the same string ; 
and, highest of all, the little sky-sail, the apex of the pyra- 
mid, seeming actually to touch the stars, and to be out of 
reach of human hand. 

So quiet, too, was the sea, and so steady the breeze, that 
if these sails had been sculptured marble, they could not 
have been more motionless. Not a ripple upon the sur- 
face of the canvass ; not even a quivering of the extreme 
edges of the sail — so perfectly were they distended by the 
breeze ! I was so lost in the sight, that I forgot the pre- 
sence of the man who came out with me, until he said, 
(for he, too, rough old man-of-war's-man as he was, had 
been gazing at the show,) half to himself, still looking at 
the marble sails — " How quietly they do their work !" 



LESSON CXVI. 

From his Inaugural Address on Entering upon the "Presi- 
dency of the United States. — Jefferson. 

During the contest of opinion through which we have 
passed, the animation of discussions and of exertions, has 
sometimes worn an aspect which might impose on stran- 
gers unused to think freely, and to speak and to write 
what they think ; but this being now decided by the voice 
of the nation, announced according to the rules of the con- 
stitution, all will of course arrange themselves under the 
will of the law, and unite in common efforts for the com- 
mon good. All too will bear in mind this sacred princi- 
ple, that though the will of the majority is in all cases to 
prevail, that will, to be rightful, must be reasonable ; that 
the minority possess their equal rights, which equal laws 
must protect, and to violate which would be oppression. , 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 243 

Let us then, fellow-citizens, unite with one heart and 
one mind, let us restore to social intercourse, that harmony 
and affection, without which liberty, and even life itself, 
are but dreary things. And let us reflect, that having 
banished from our land that religious intolerance under 
which mankind so long bled and suffered, we have yet 
gained little, if we countenance a political intolerance, as 
despotic, as wicked, and capable of as bitter and bloody 
persecutions. 

During the throes and convulsions of the ancient world, 
during the agonizing spasms of infuriated man, seeking 
through blood and slaughter his long lost liberty, it was 
not wonderful that the agitation of the billows should reach 
even this distant and peaceful shore ; that this should be 
more felt and feared by some, and. less by others ; and 
should divide opinions as to measures of safety ; but every 
difference of opinion is not a difference of principle. 

We have called by different names brethren of the same 
principle. We are all republicans : we are all federal- 
ists. If there be any among us who would, wish to dis- 
solve this Union, or to change its republican form, let 
them stand undisturbed as monuments of the safety with 
which error of opinion may be tolerated, where reason is 
left free to combat it. I know, indeed, that some honest 
men fear that a republican government cannot be strong ; 
that this government is not strong enough. 

But would the honest patriot, in the full tide of success- 
ful experiment, abandon a government which has so far 
kept us free and firm, on the theoretic and visionary fear, 
that this government, the world's best hope, may, by pos- 
sibility, want energy to preserve itself 1 I trust not. 

I believe this, on the contrary, the strongest government 
on earth. I believe it the only one where every man, at 
the call of the law, would fly to the standard of the law, 
and would meet invasions of the public order as his own 
personal concern. Sometimes it is said, that man cannot 
be trusted with the government of himself. Can he then 
be trusted with the government of others % Or, have we 
found angels in the form of kings, to govern him ? Let 
history answer this question. 

About to enter, fellow-citizens, on the exercise of duties 
which comprehend every thing dear and valuable to you, 



24"i NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

it is proper you should understand what I deem the essen- 
tial principles of our government, and consequently, those 
which ought to shape its administration. I will compress 
them within the narrowest compass they will bear, stating 
the general principles, but not all their limitations : — 

Equal and exact justice to all men, of whatever state 
or persuasion, religious or political : peace, commerce, and 
honest friendship with all nations, entangling alliances 
with none : the support of the state governments in all 
their rights, as the most competent administrations for our 
domestic concerns, and the surest bulwarks against anti- 
republican tendencies : the preservation of the general 
government in its whole constitutional vigour, as the sheet 
anchor of our peace at home and safety abroad : a jealous 
care of the right of election by the people : a mild and 
safe corrective of abuses, which are lopped by the sword 
of revolution where peaceable remedies are unprovided: 
absolute acquiescence in the decisions of the majority, the 
vital principle of republics, from which there is no appeal 
but to force, the vital principle and immediate parent of 
despotism : a well disciplined militia, our best reliance in 
peace, and for the first moments of war, till regulars may 
relieve them : the supremacy of the civil over the milita- 
ry authority : economy in the public expense, that labour 
may be lightly burdened : the honest payment of our debts 
and sacred preservation of the public faith : encourage- 
ment of agriculture, and of commerce as its hand-maid : 
the diffusion of information, and arraignment of all abuses 
at the bar of the public reason : freedom of religion ; free- 
dom of the press ; and freedom of person, under the pro- 
tection of the habeas corpus : and trial by juries impartially 
selected. 

These principles form the bright constellation, which 
has gone before us, and guided our steps through an age 
of revolution and reformation. The wisdom of our sages, 
and blood of our heroes, have been devoted to their 
attainment : they should be the creed of our political 
faith, the text of civic instruction, the touchstone by which 
to try the services of those we trust ; and should we wan- 
der from them in moments of error or of alarm, let us 
hasten to retrace our steps, and to regain the road which 
alone leads to peace, liberty and safety. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 245 



LESSON CXVII. 

Repudiation of the Charge of French Influence during the 
War of 1812.— H. Clay. 

The administration of this country devoted to foreign in- 
fluence ! Great Heavens ! What a charge ! How is it 
so influenced ? By what ligament, on what basis, on what 
possible foundation does it rest 1 ? Is it similarity of lan- 
guage ? No ! we speak different tongues — we speak the 
English language. On the resemblance of oui laws 1 No ! 
the sources of our jurisprudence spring from another and 
a different country. On commercial inteicourse ] No ! 
we have comparatively none with France. Is it from the 
correspondence in the genius of the two governments ] 
No ! here alone is the liberty of man secure from the in- 
exorable despotism which everywhere else tramples it un- 
der foot. 

Where, then, is the ground of such an influence 1 But, 
sir, I am insulting you by arguing on such a subject. Yet, 
preposterous and ridiculous as the insinuation is, it is pro- 
pagated with so much industry, that there are persons 
found foolish and credulous enough to believe it. You 
will, no doubt, think it incredible (but I have nevertheless 
been told it is a fact), that an honourable member of this 
house, now in my eye, recently lost his election by the cir- 
culation of a silly story in his district:, that he was the first 
cousin of the Emperor Napoleon. The proof of the charge 
rested on the statement of facts, which were undoubtedly 
true. The gentleman in question, it was alleged, had mar- 
ried a connection of the lady of the President of the Uni- 
ted States, who was the intimate friend of Thomas Jeffer- 
son, late President of the United States, who some years 
ago was in the habit of wearing red French breeches. 
Now, taking these premises as established, you, Mr. Chair- 
man, are too good a logician not to see that the conclusion 
necessarily follows ! 

Throughout the period I have been speaking of, the op- 
position has been distinguished, amidst all its veerings and 
changes, by another inflexible feature — the application to 



246 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Bonaparte of every vile and opprobrious epithet, which 
our language, copious as it is in terms of vituperation, af- 
fords. He has been compared to every hideous monster 
and beast, from that mentioned in the Revelation, down to 
the most insignificant quadruped. He has been called the 
scourge of mankind, the destroyer of Europe, the great 
robber, the infidel, the modern Attila, and heaven knows 
by what other names. 

Really, gentlemen remind me of ar obscure lady, in a 
city not very far off, who also took it into her head, in con- 
versation with an accomplished French gentleman, to talk 
of the affairs of Europe. She too spoke of the destruction 
of the balance of power, stormed and raged about the insa- 
tiable ambition of the emperor ; called him the curse of 
mankind, the destroyer of Europe. The Frenchman lis- 
tened to her with perfect patience, and, when she had ceas- 
ed, said to her with ineffable politeness, " Madame, it 
would give my master, the emperor, infinite pain, if he 
knew how hardly you thought of him." 

Sir, gentlemen appear to me to forget that they stand on 
American soil ; that they are not in the British House of 
Commons, but in the chamber of the House of Representa- 
tives of the United States ; that we have nothing to do with 
the affairs of Europe, the partition of territory and sover 
eignty there, except so far as these things affect the inter- 
ests of our own country. G-entlemen transform themselves 
into the Burkes, Chathams, and Pitts of another country, 
and forgetting, from honest zeal, the interests of America, 
engage with European sensibility in the discussion of 
European interests. If gentlemen ask me whether I do 
not view with regret and horror the concentration of such 
vast power in the hands of Bonaparte, I reply that I do. 
I regret to see the emperor of China holding such im- 
mense sway over the fortunes of millions of our species. I 
regret to see Great Britain possessing so uncontrolled a 
command over all the waters of our globe. 

If I had the ability to distribute among the nations of 
Europe their several portions of power and sovereignty, 
I would say that Holland should be resuscitated, and given 
the weight she enjoyed in the days of her De Witts. I 
would confine France within her natural boundaries, the 
Alps, Pyrenees, and the Rhine, and make her a secondary 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 247 

naval power only. I would abridge the British maritime 
power, raise Prussia and Austria to their original condi- 
tion, and preserve the integrity of the empire of Russia. 

But these are speculations. I look at the political trans- 
actions of Europe, with the single exception of their possi- 
ble bearing upon us, as I do at the history of other coun- 
tries, or other times. I do not survey them with half the 
interest that I do the movements in South America. Our 
political relations with them are much less important than 
they are supposed to be. I have no fears of French or 
of English subjugation. If we are united, we are too pow- 
erful for the mightiest nation in Europe, or all Europe 
combined. If we are separated and torn asunder, we 
shall become an easy prey to the weakest of them. In the 
latter dreadful contingency, our country will not be worth 
preserving. 



LESSON CXVIII. 

Indifference to Popular Elections. — G. Mc Duffie. 

We have been frequently told, that the farmer should 
attend to the plough, and the mechanic to his handicraft, 
during the canvass for the presidency* Sir, a more dan- 
gerous doctrine could not be inculcated. If there is any 
spectacle from the contemplation of which I would shrink 
with peculiar horror, it would be that of the great mass of 
the American people, sunk into a profound apathy on the 
subject of their highest political interests. Such a specta- 
cle would be more portentous to the eye of intelligent pa- 
triotism, than all the monsters of the earth, and fiery signs 
of the heavens, to the eye of trembling superstition. If 
the people could be indifferent to the fate of a contest for 
the presidency, they would be unworthy of freedom. If I 
were to perceive them sinking into this apathy, I would 
even apply the power of political galvanism, if such a pow- 
er could be found, to rouse them from their fatal lethargy. 

" Keep the people quiet ! Peace ! peace !" Such are 
the whispers by which the people are to be lulled to sleep 
in the very crisis of their highest concerns. Sir, " yor 



248 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

make a solitude, and call it peace !" Peace 1 'Tis death ! 
Take away all interest from the people, in the election of 
their chief ruler, and liberty is no more. What, sir, is to 
be the consequence ? If the people do not elect the Pre- 
sident, somebody must. There is no special providence to 
decide the question. Who, then, is to make the election, 
and how will it operate ? You throw a general paralysis 
over the body politic, and excite a morbid action in par- 
ticular members. 

The general patriotic excitement of the people, in rela- 
tion to the election of the President, is as essential to the 
health and energy of the political system, as circulation of 
the blood is to the health and energy of the natural body. 
Check that circulation, and you inevitably produce local 
inflammation, gangrene, and ultimately death. Make the 
people indifferent — destroy their legitimate influence, and 
you communicate a morbid violence to the efforts of those 
who are ever ready to assume the control of such affairs 
— the mercenary intriguers and interested office hunters 
of the country. 

Tell me not, sir, of popular violence ! Show me a hun- 
dred political factionists — men who look to the election of 
a President, as a means of gratifying their high or their 
low ambition — and I will show you the very materials for 
a mob, ready for any desperate adventure connected with 
their common fortunes. The reason of this extraordinary 
excitement is obvious. It is a matter of self-interest, of 
personal ambition. The people can have no such motives ; 
they look only to the interest and glory of the country. 

There was a law of Athens which subjected every citi- 
zen to punishment, who refused to take sides in the poli- 
tical parties which divided the republic. It was founded 
in the deepest wisdom. In political affairs, the vicious, 
the ambitious, and the interested, are always active. It is 
the natural tendency of virtue, confiding in the strength of 
its own cause, to be inactive. It hence results, that the 
ambitious few will inevitably acquire the ascendancy, iu 
the conduct of human affairs, if the patriotic many, the 
people, are not stimulated and roused to a proper activity 
and effort. 

Sir, no nation on earth has ever exerted so extensive an 
influence on human affairs, as this will certainly exercise, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 24-9 

if we preserve our glorious system of government in its pu- 
rity. The liberty of this country is a sacred depository 
— a vestal fire, which Providence has committed to us for 
the general benefit of mankind. It is the world's last 
hope. Extinguish it, and the earth will be covered with 
eternal darkness. But once put out that fire, and I " know 
not where is the Promethean heat, which can that light 
relume." 



LESSON CXIX. 

Brutus on the Death of Ccesar. — Shakspeare. 

Romans, Countrymen, and Lovers ! — hear me for my 
cause ; and be silent, that you may hear. Believe me for 
mine honour ; and have respect to mine honour, that you 
may believe. Censure me in your wisdom ; and awake 
your senses, that you may the better judge. — If there be 
any in this assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him 
I say, that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less than his. 
If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against Cae- 
sar, this is my answer : not that I loved Caesar less, but 
that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were 
living, and die all slaves ; than that Caesar were dead, to 
live all freemen ] — As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; 
as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I 
honour him : but as he was ambitious, I slew him ! There 
are tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honour for his 
valour, and death for his ambition ! — Who's here so base, 
that would be a bondman 1 if any, speak ! for him have 
I offended. Who's here so rude, that would not be a 
Roman ] if any, speak ! for him have I offended. Who's 
here so vile, that will not love his country 1 if any, speak ! 
for him have I offended. — I pause for a reply. — 

None ] then none have I offended ! I have done no 
more to Caesar, than you should do to Brutus. The ques- 
tion of his death is enrolled in the Capitol ; his glory not 
extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor his offences en- 
forced, for which he suffered death. 

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony ; who, 
though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the ben- 



250 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

fit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth ; as, which 
of you shall not ? With this I depart — that as 1 slew my 
best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for 
myself, when it shall please my country to need my death. 



LESSON CXX. 

Contentment. — Bishop Morris. 

Contentment is a virtue, the value of which may be in- 
ferred, both from the felicity it affords, and the misery that 
ensues from the want of it. Happiness does not consist so 
much in outward things, as in the state of the mind. To 
be contented is to be happy. " A contented mind is a 
continual feast." And this may be enjoyed under every 
variety of outward circumstances, provided the heart is 
right. 

But restless discontent is characteristic of our fallen nature. 
Most of the human family are dissatisfied with their earthly 
allotments, with their location, their calling, and their re- 
spective circumstances. Every relation in life, every posi- 
tion in society, has its own peculiar difficulties. Each in- 
dividual seems to imagine that his is the hardest case. All 
that can be truly inferred from this, however, is, that he 
knows more of his own, and less of his neighbor's diffi- 
culties. Hence, the world is full of complaints. They 
come from high places and low places ; from public life, 
and from private life ; all indicating a destitution of content- 
ment. 

But from this extreme of restlessness, some are removed 
to the other — of stoical unconcern. They manifest a list- 
less indifference to all the events of life, right or wrong, 
pleasant or unpleasant. Evils are coming, dangers are 
threatening, poverty and real suffering are staring them in 
the face, ready to fall upon them and their families ; but 
they are unmoved. Such indifference is not contentment, 
but criminal inattention to duty. " A prudent man foreseeth 
the evil, and hideth himself; but the simple pass on and 
are punished." 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 251 

Now, contentment is the happy medium between the ex- 
tremes of restless discontent and criminal indifference. It 
brings repose of mind, not from ignorance of our real condi- 
tion, nor from heedlessness of it, but from a consciousness 
of having done our duty, and a willingness to trust in Prov- 
idence for the result, and to make the best we can of our 
actual circumstances, whatever they may be. If the means 
of bettering our condition are within our reach, we should 
avail ourselves of them ; but if not, why should we afflict 
ourselves by fruitless regrets ? 

Most of our discontent, growing out of either penury or 
affluence, might be avoided, by adopting the prayer of Agur : 
"Give me neither poverty nor riches: feed me with food 
convenient for me." 

The contented man, so far as property is concerned, is he 
who is neither pressed with want, nor burdened with the 
care of a superabundance ; but who knows, from experi- 
ence, that godliness with contentment is great gain." He 
reasons thus : " For we brought nothing into this world, and 
it is certain we can carry nothing out. And having food 
and raiment, let us be therewith content." 



LESSON CXXL- 
Education promotive of Happiness. — Bishop Janes. 

That therais a kind and degree of happiness enjoyed by 
persons destitute of mental cultivation, is to be admitted. 
But it is a happiness of the lowest character and most lim- 
ited extent. 

Education opens to its possessor additional sources of 
enjoyment. It affords delightful employment for all the 
powers of his mind. It presents questions on which his 
reasoning faculties may exert the utmost of their abili- 
ties. It furnishes subjects on which his contemplative pow- 
ers may dwell, until his soul is ravished with intellectual or 
moral beauties, and his mind filled with the most ecstatic 
delights. It spreads out before him extended fields of ama- 
ranthine flowers, through which his imagination may rove, 



252 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

and constantly inhale celestial fragrance. Indeed, a culti- 
vated and well-furnished mind will find 

" Tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 

These sources of intellectual pleasure are pervading and 
unfailing. When once these fountains are unsealed, their 
streams, fresh and free, flow on forever. They wind along 
by the thorny path of life, and across the sterile vale of 
poverty, and fail not, until they empty themselves into the 
ocean of eternity. Wherever they pass along, they fertilize 
the soil, vegetate delicious fruits, and afford the most re- 
freshing draughts. The scorching winds of adversity can 
never dry these streams, nor can the hoary frosts of age con- 
geal them. 

Education elevates the character of our enjoyments. 
Those of the ignorant are of the lowest order. They are 
more sensual — more the enjoyments of the body than of the 
mind; more the gratifications of the animal than the pleas- 
ures of the man. The intellectual happiness which the 
cultivated mind enjoys, is as much superior to the coarse 
gratifications of the ignorant, as reason is superior to in- 
stinct, or as mind is superior to matter. 

Education, at the same time that it multiplies the sources 
of our enjoyments, and elevates the character of our pleas- 
ures, enlarges our capacity to enjoy. If, then, we would 
render the rising generation happy, we must afford them the 
advantages which education furnishes, inasmuch as all men 
possess an appetite that can only be satisfied with " angels' 
food," and a thirst that can only be slaked by drinking 
deep at " the Pierian spring." 



LESSON CXXII. 

On Increasing the Army, preparatory to the War of 1812. — 
J. C. Calhoun. 

Sir, I think a regular force, raised for a period of ac- 
tual hostilities, cannot be called a standing army. There 
is a just distinction between such a force and one raised 



PIECES FOR READLNG AND DECLAMATION. 253 

as a peace establishment. Whatever may be the compo- 
sition of the latter, I hope the former will consist of some 
of the best materials of the country. The ardent patriot- 
ism of our young men, and the reasonable bounty in land, 
which is proposed to be given, will impel them to join 
their country's standard and to fight her battles ; they will 
not forget the citizen in the soldier, and, in obeying their 
officer, learn to contemn their constitution. 

In our officers and soldiers we will find patriotism no less 
pure and ardent than in the private citizen ; but if they 
should be depraved, as represented, what have we to fear 
from twenty-five or thirty thousand regulars 1 Where will 
be the boasted militia of the gentleman 1 Can one mil- 
lion of militia be overpowered by thirty thousand regulars ] 
If so, how can we rely on them against a foe invading our 
country % Sir, I have no such contemptuous idea of our 
militia; their untaught bravery is sufficient to crush all 
foreign and internal attempts on their country's liberties. 

But we have not yet come to the end of the chapter of 
dangers. The gentleman's imagination, so fruitful on this 
subject, conceives that our constitution is not calculated 
for war, and that it cannot stand its rude shock. This is 
rather extraordinary : we must then depend upon the pity 
or contempt of other nations, for our existence 1 The 
constitution, it seems, has failed in its essential part, " to 
provide for the common defence." No, says the gentle- 
man from Virginia, it is competent for a defensive, but 
not an offensive war. 

It is not necessary for me to expose the error of this 
opinion. Why make the distinction in this instance % 
Will he pretend to say, that this is an offensive war ; a 
war of conquest ] Yes, the gentleman has dared to make 
this assertion, and for reasons no less extraordinary than 
the assertion itself. He says our rights are violated on 
the ocean, and that these violations affect our shipping 
and commercial rights, to which the Canadas have no re- 
lation. The doctrine of retaliation has been much abused 
of late by an unnatural extension ; we are now to witness 
a new abuse. The gentleman from Virginia has limited 
it down to a point. By his system, if you receive a blow 
on the breast, you dare not return it on the head ; you are 
obliged to measure and return it on the precise point on 

H 



254 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

which it was received. If you do not proceed with this 
mathematical accuracy, it ceases to be just self-defence ; 
it becomes an unprovoked attack. 

The gentleman is at a loss to account for, what he calls, 
our hatred to England. He asks, how can we hate the 
country of Locke, of Newton, Hampden and Chatham ; 
a country having the same language and customs with our- 
selves, and descending from a common ancestry. Sir, the 
laws of human affections are uniform. If we have so 
much to attach us to that country, powerful, indeed, must 
be the cause which has overpowered it. 

Yes, sir, there is a cause strong enough : not that 
occult, courtly affection, which he has supposed to be en- 
tertained for France ; but it is to be found in continued 
and unprovoked insult and injury : — a cause so manifest, 
that the gentleman from Virginia had to exert much inge- 
nuity to overlook it. But, sir, here I think the gentleman, 
in his eager admiration of England, has not been suffi- 
ciently guarded in his argument. Has he reflected on the 
cause of that admiration ] Has he examined the reasons 
of our high regard for her Chatham % It is his ardent pa- 
triotism ; the heroic courage of his mind, that could not 
brook the least insult or injury offered to his country, but 
thought that her interest and honour ought to be vindicated 
at every hazard and expense ! I hope, when we are called 
on to admire, we shall also be asked to imitate. I hope 
the gentleman does not wish a monopoly of those great 
virtues to remain with that nation ! 



LESSON CXXIII. 
The Antiquity of Freedom. — Bryant. 

Here are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines, 
That stream with gray-green mosses ; here the ground 
Was never touch'd by spades, and flowers spring up 
Unsown, and die ungather'd. It is sweet 
To linger here, among the flitting birds 
And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds 
That shake the leaves, and scatter as they pass 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION 255 

A fragrance from the cedars thickly set 
With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades- 
Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old — 
My thoughts go up the long dim path of years, 
Back to the earliest days of Liberty. 

O Freedom ! thou art not, as poets dream, 
A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, 
And wavy tresses gushing from the cap 
With which the Roman master crown'd his slave, 
When he took off the gyves. A bearded man, 
Arm'd to the teeth, art thou : one mailed hand 
Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword ; thy brow, 
Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarr'd 
With tokens of old wars ; thy massive limbs 
Are strong and struggling. Power at thee has launch'd 
His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee ; — 
They could not quench the life thou hast from Heaven. 
Merciless Power has dug thy dungeon deep, 
And his swart armourers, by a thousand fires, 
Have forged thy chain ; yet, while he deems thee bound, 
The links are shiver' d, and the prison walls 
Fall outward ; terribly thou springest forth, 
As springs the flame above a burning pile, 
And shoutest to the nations, who return 
Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies. 

Thy birth-right was not given by human hands : 
Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields, 
While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him, 
To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars, 
And teach the reed to utter simple airs. 
Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood, 
Didst war upon the panther and the wolf, 
Thine only foes : and thou with him didst draw 
The earliest furrows on the mountain side, 
Soft with the Deluge. Tyranny himself, 
Thy enemy, although of reverend look, 
Hoary with many years, and far obey'd, 
Is later born than thou ; and as he meets 
The grave defiance of thine elder eye, 
The usurper trembles in his fastnesses. 

Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years, 
But he shall fade into a feebler age ; 
h2 



256 N EW RHETORICAL READER. 

Feebler, yet subtler. He shall weave his snares, 

And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap 

His wither'd hands, and from their ambush call 

His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send 

Quaint maskers, forms of fair and gallant mien, 

To catch thy gaze, and, uttering graceful words, 

To charm thy ear ; while his sly imps, by stealth, 

Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on thread, 

That grow to fetters ; or bind down thy arms 

With chains conceal'd in chaplets. Oh ! not yet 

May'st thou unbrace thy corslet, or lay by 

Thy sword ! nor yet, O Freedom ! close thy lids 

In slumber ; for thine enemy never sleeps ; 

And thou must watch and combat, till the day 

Of the new Earth and Heaven. But would'st thou rest 

A while from tumult and the frauds of men, 

These old and friendly solitudes invite 

Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees 

Were young upon the inviolated Earth, 

And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new, 

Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced. 



LESSON CXXIV. 

Charade on the Name of the Poet Campbell. — W. M. Prajed. 

Come from my First, ay. come ! 

The battle dawn is nigh : 
And the screaming trump and the thund'ring drum 

Are calling thee to die ! 
Fight as thy father fought, 

Fall as thy father fell — 
Thy task is taught, thy shroud is wrought : 

So forward ! and farewell ! 

Toll ye, my Second ! toll ! 

Fling high the flambeau's light, 
And sing the hymn of a parted soul, 

Beneath the silent night ! 
The wreath upon his head, 

The cross upon his breast, — 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 257 

Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed : 
So — take hi-m to his rest ! 

Call ye my Whole, ay, call 

The lord of lute, and lay ! 
And let him greet the sable pall 

With a noble song to-day : 
Go, call him by his name, 

No fitter hand may crave, 
To light the flame of a soldier's fame, 

On the turf of a soldier's grave ! 



LESSON CXXV. 

Confidence m God. — Addison. 

How are thy servants bless'd, O Lord ! 

How sure is their defence ! 
Eternal wisdom is their guide, 

Their help — omnipotence. 

In foreign realms, and lands remote, 

Supported by thy care, 
Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt 

And breathed in tainted air. 

Thy mercy sweeten 'd every soil, 

Made every region please ; 
The hoary Alpine hills it warm'd, 

And smoothed the Tyrrhene seas. 

Think, O my soul ! devoutly think, 

How, with affrighted eyes, 
Thou saw'st the wide-extended deep 

In all its horrors rise ! 

Confusion dwelt in every face, 

And fear in every heart, 
When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs, 

O'ercame the pilot's art ! 
h3 



258 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Yet then, from all my griefs, O Lord ! 

Thy mercy set me free : 
While, in the confidence of prayer, 

My soul took hold on thee. 

For though in dreadful whirls we hucg 
High on the broken wave, 

I knew thou wert not slow to hear, 
Nor impotent to save. 

The storm was laid, the winds retired, 

Obedient to thy will ; 
The sea that roar'd at thy command, 

At thy command was still. 
» 

In midst of dangers, fears, and deaths, 

Thy goodness I'll adore ; 
And praise thee for thy mercies past, 

And humbly hope for more. 

My life — if thou preserve my life — 
Thy sacrifice shall be ; 

And death — if death must be my doom- 
Shall join my soul to thee. 



LESSON CXXVI. 
To One in Affliction. — J. Montgomery, 

Lift up thine eyes, afflicted soul ! 

From earth lift up thine eyes, 
Though dark the evening shadows roll, 

And daylight beauty dies ; 
One sun is set — a thousand more 

Their rounds of glory run, 
Where science leads thee to explore 

In every star a sun. 

Thus when some long-loved comfort ends. 

And nature would despair, 
Faith to the heaven of heaven ascends, 

And meets ten thousand there ; 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 259 

First faint and small, then clear and bright, 

They gladden all the gloom, 
And stars that seem but points of light, 

The rank of suns assume. 



LESSON CXXVII. 

Exhortation against Subjection to Foreign Influence. — Geo. 
Washington. 

Against the insidious wiles of foreign influence, (I con- 
jure you to believe me, fellow-citizens,) the jealousy of a 
free people ought to be constantly awake ; since history 
and experience prove, that foreign influence is one of the 
most baneful foes of republican government. But that 
jealousy, to be useful, must be impartial ; else it becomes 
the instrument of the very influence to be avoided, instead 
of a defence against it. Excessive partiality for one for- 
eign nation, and excessive dislike of another, cause those 
whom they actuate, to see danger only on one side ; and 
serve to veil and even second the arts of influence on the 
other. Real patriots, who may resist the intrigues of the 
favourite, are liable to become suspected and odious ; 
while its tools and dupes usurp the applause and confi- 
dence of the people, to surrender their interests. 

The great rule of conduct for us, in regard to foreign 
nations is, in extending our commercial relations, to have 
with them as little political connection as possible. So far 
as we have already formed engagements, let them be ful- 
filled with perfect good faith. Here let us stop. 

Europe has a set of primary interests, which to us have 
none, or a very remote relation. Hence she must be en- 
gaged in frequent controversies, the causes of which are 
essentially foreign to our concerns. Hence, therefore, it 
must be unwise in us to implicate ourselves, by artificial 
ties, in the ordinary vicissitudes of her politics, or the or- 
dinary combinations and collisions of her friendships or 
enmities. 

Our detached and distant situation invites and enables 
us to pursue a different course. If we remain one people, 
h4 



260 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

under an efficient government, the period is not far off, 
when we may defy material injury from external annoy- 
ance ; when we may take such an attitude as will cause 
the neutrality we may at any time resolve upon, to be 
scrupulously respected ; when belligerent nations, undei 
the impossibility of making acquisitions upon us, will not 
lightly hazard the giving us provocation ; when we may 
choose peace or war, as our interest, guided by justice, 
shall counsel. 

Why forego the advantages of so peculiar a situation ] 
Why quit our own, to stand upon foreign ground 1 Why, 
by interweaving' our destiny with that of any part of 
Europe, entangle our peace and prosperity in the toils of 
European ambition, rivalship, interest, humour, or caprice ] 



LESSON CXXVIII. 
Adams and Jefferson. — W. Wirt. 

Jefferson and Adams were great men by nature. Not 
great and eccentric minds, " shot madly from their spheres" 
to affright the world and scatter pestilence in their course ; 
but minds whose strong and steady light, restrained within 
their proper orbits by the happy poise of their characters, 
came to cheer and to gladden a world that had been buried 
for ages in political night. They were heaven-called 
avengers of degraded man. They came to lift him to the 
station for which God had formed him, and to put to flight 
those idiot superstitions with which tyrants had contrived 
to enthral his reason and his liberty. 

And that Being who had sent them upon this mission, 
had fitted them, pre-eminently, for his glorious work. He 
filled their hearts with a love of country which burned 
strong within them, even in death. He gave them a power 
of understanding which no sophistry could baffle, no art 
elude ; and a moral heroism which no dangers could ap- 
pal. Careless of themselves, reckless of all personal con- 
sequences, trampling under foot that petty ambition of 
office and honour which constitutes the master passion of 
little minds, they bent all their mighty powers to the task 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 261 

to' which they had been delegated — the freedom of their 
beloved country, and the restoration of fallen man. 

They felt that they were Apostles of human liberty ; and 
well did they fulfil their high commission. They rested 
not until they had accomplished their work at home, and 
given such an impulse to the great ocean of mind, that 
they saw the waves rolling on to the farthest shore, before 
they were called to their reward. And then they left the 
world, hand in hand, exulting, as they rose, in the success 
of their labours. 

Adams and Jefferson were born, the first in Massachu- 
setts, on the 19th of October, 1735 ; the last in Virginia, 
on the 2d of April, 1743. On the earliest opening of their 
characters, it was manifest that they were marked for dis- 
tinction. They both displayed that thirst for knowledge, 
that restless spirit of inquiry, that fervid sensibility, and 
that bold, fearless independence of thought, which are 
among the surest prognostics of exalted talent ; and, for- 
tunately for them, as well as for their country and man- 
kind, the Universities in their respective neighbourhoods 
opened to their use all the fountains of ancient and modern 
learning. 

With what appetite they drank at these fountains, we 
need no testimony of witnesses to inform us. The living 
streams which afterwards flowed from their own lips and 
pens, are the best witnesses that can be called, of their 
youthful studies. They were, indeed, of that gifted order 
of minds, to which early instruction is of little other use 
than to inform them of their own powers, and to indicate 
the objects of human knowledge. Education was not 
with them, as with minor characters, an attempt to plant 
new talents and new qualities in a strange and reluctant 
soil. It was the development, merely, of those which 
already existed. 

Thus, the pure and disinterested patriotism of Aristides, 
the firmness of Cato, and the devotion of Curtius, only 
awakened the principles that were sleeping in their young 
hearts, and touched the responding chords with which 
Heaven had attuned them. The statesman-like vigour of 
Pericles, and the spirit-stirring energy of Demosthenes, 
only roused their own lion powers, and informed them of 
their strength. Aristotle, and Bacon, and Sidney, and 
h5 



262 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Locke, could do little more than to disclose to them their 
native capacity for the profound investigation and ascer- 
tainment of truth ; and Newton taught their power to 
range among the stars. In short, every model to which 
they looked, and every great master to whom they ap- 
pealed, only moved into life the scarcely dormant energies 
with which Heaven had endued them ; and they came 
forth from the discipline, not decorated for pomp, but armed 
for battle. 



LESSON CXXIX. 
Anecdote of Napoleon. — Duchess d'Abrantes. 

The Emperor, on arriving at Brienne, made several in- 
quiries after old Mother Margaret : such was the appella- 
tion given to a good wife who occupied a cottage in the 
midst of the forest, to which the pupils of the military 
school had, in days of yore, made frequent excursions 
Napoleon had not forgotten the name, and he learned with 
no less pleasure than surprise, that the good old dame was 
still in existence. Continuing his morning ride, he struck 
into the forest, galloped to the well-known spot, and hav- 
ing dismounted, unceremoniously entered the cottage. 
Age had somewhat impaired the old woman's sight, and 
the Emperor's person was much changed. 

" Good morning, Mother Margaret," said Napoleon, 
saluting his hostess ; " it seems you have no curiosity to 
see the Emperor V 

" Yes, but I have ; I should like of all things to see him, 
and I intend to take that basket of fresh eggs to Madame 
de Brienne, that I may be invited to remain at the chateau^ 
and so catch a glimpse of the Emperor. Ah! I shall not 
see him so well to-day as formerly, when he used to accom- 
pany his comrades to old Mother Margaret's and call for a 
bowl of new milk. To be sure, he was not Emperor then, 
but no matter ; the rest marched before him. He always 
made them pay me for my milk, eggs, brown bread, and 
broken crockery, and commenced by paying his own sharo 
of the reckoning." 



PIE3ES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. , 263 

u Then," replied Napoleon, with a smile, " you have not 
forgotten Bonaparte !" 

" Forgotten him ! Do you think one could forget such 
a steady, serious, melancholy-like, young gentleman, so 
considerate too for the poor ] I am a weak old woman, 
but I always foretold that the lad would turn out well." 

" Why, yes ; he has made his way." 

At the commencement of this short dialogue, the Em- 
peror had turned his back to the door, and consequently to 
the light ; the narrow entrance thus blocked up, the interior 
of the cottage was left in darkness. By degrees, however, 
he approached the old woman, and the light again pene- 
trated from without. The Emperor, upon this, rubbing 
his hands together, and assuming the tone and manners of his 
early youth — " Come, Mother Margaret," said he, "bestir 
yourself — some milk and fresh eggs ; I am half dead with 
hunger." 

Margaret stared at her visitor, and seemed as though en- 
deavouring to recall her buried recollections. 

" Ha, ha !" said the Emperor, laughing ; " how positive 
you were just now that you had not forgotten Bonaparte ! 
we are old acquaintances, dame I" 

Meanwhile, old Margaret had fallen at the Emperor's 
feet. 

Raising her with unaffected kindness, — " Have you 
nothing to give me, Mother Margaret," said he; "I am 
hungry — as hungry as a student." 

The poor woman, beside herself with joy, hastily laid 
before her guest some fresh eggs and new milk. His re- 
past finished, Napoleon forced his purse into the hands of 
his hostess, at the same time observing, " You recollect, 
Margaret, I used to make every one pay his reckoning. 
Adieu ! I shall not forget you ;" and as he again mounted 
his horse and rode away, the old Dame, weeping with ex- 
cess of delight, and straining her eyes to catch a last look, 
could only recompense him with her prayers. 



264 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON CXXX. 
The Baptism of Jesus. — Rev. Dr. Durbin. 

Nearly two thousand years have rolled away since the 
baptism of Jesus, and yet its powerful associations are felt 
throughout the Christian world. By the fifteenth of April 
of each year, a vast crowd of men, women, and children, 
from Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, are assembled in 
Jerusalem. As the morning dawns on Mount Olivet, the 
Mahometan governor of the city, with an imposing military 
brigade, is seen deploying from the Damascus gate ; while 
the pilgrims, some on foot, some on horseback, some on 
camels, some on donkeys, are assembled outside of St. Ste- 
phen's gate ; the aged and sick, the women and children, in 
large baskets, or panniers, slung over the backs of camels. 

As the gay cortege of the Turk winds round the western 
and northern slopes of Olivet, the Christian host, in the most 
picturesque confusion, follow in his train for protection. 
At eventide they are in the plains of Jericho, about a mile 
from the Jordan. The gay tent of the governor is the cen- 
tre of the thousand groups, which, under the open heavens, 
are assembled around their little fires. These die out as 
the night advances ; but sleep comes not to the weary and 
excited multitudes, for they are to bathe to-morrow in the 
Jordan, where the Son of life and glory was baptized. At 
three o'clock in the morning the camp is in motion, and the 
multitudes eagerly advance, in disorder, to the margin of 
the river. 

The lusty swimmer leaps into the sacred flood — the timid 
female seizes the branch of an impending willow, and lets 
herself down three times beneath the water — the feeble old 
man's step is steadied by his brawny son, and, as he comes 
up from the river, he feels that he is content, for the chief 
wish of his life is accomplished. Suddenly a faint shriek is 
heard, and at first a shiver of horror, and then a thrill of 
pleasure runs through the multitude : the rapid current has 
carried away a pilgrim, and she finds an enviable burial in 
the holy river. 

Scarcely two hours have elapsed, and the vast multitude 
is retracing its steps across the sandy plain, bearing on high 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 265 

branches of willow, acacia, or cane, which they have pluck- 
ed from the banks and dipped into the sacred waters. An 
hour more, and the rear portions of that wonderful throng 
have disappeared high up in the dark, craggy mountains of 
the wilderness of Judea. At night, they will sleep around 
the garden of Gethsemane and the tomb of the blessed vir- 
gin, in the valley of the Kidron, under the walls of Jerusa- 
lem. 



LESSON CXXXI. 
The Dignity of Music— Rev. B. F. Tefft, D.D. 

Among the fine arts, music must certainly take the high- 
est place ; for though poetry would seem to be more intel- 
lectual, painting more striking, sculpture more ingenious, 
architecture more magnificent, and several of the minor 
artes ingenuce more curious, this not only addresses the heart 
more directly, but moves it more effectually and profoundly. 
Sound, in truth, seems to be the appointed medium of the 
emotions. There is more passion in the tones of the human 
voice, than in all the dumb shows of art. The bleating of a 
lamb even ; the cry of the meanest animal in distress ; the 
chirping of a cricket on the hearth, carries more meaning 
with it than anything ever drawn or chiselled by the hand 
of man. We must all be reminded, in this connection, of 
the reply of a philosophic traveller to his companion, when 
they were viewing together the statue of the Dying Gladia- 
tor at Rome : " It is so perfect, so life-like," said the latter, 
" that could it only speak, it would raise our admiration to 
the highest pitch." " Nay," replied the philosopher, " could 
it speak, our admiration would be lost in pity ; for then the 
heart would overpower the head." 

Music is that fine art which has a voice ; and it excels 
eloquence in this, that its tones are more numerous and more 
captivating, combining melody and harmony into one pow- 
erful effect. 

Music is not only chief among the fine arts, but it is em- 
phatically the soul and life of all the rest. Eloquence, as 
an art, is the music of speech. Painting is the music of 
colors. Architecture is the music of proportions. There 
12 



266 



NEW RHETORICAL READER 



is music, also, in the sculptured marble. Music is the 
common and characteristic element of all these arts. The 
man who has the musical talent is so far equally fitted for 
them all ; and it is for this reason that a great musician, like 
Mozart, will often be found to excel in more than one. 
Michael Angelo, born with a musical soul, was at once the 
best painter and the best architect of his age. Burns was 
as beautiful a singer, as he was a genuine poet. Hogarth's 
written Analysis of Beauty is almost as celebrated as his 
pictures ; and he was as expert with the graver as with the 
pencil and the pen. 

So easy is the transition from poetry to music, which are ab- 
solutely inseparable as arts, that the lute of Orpheus and the 
harp of Homer, as well as that of David, are the symbols by 
which they are respectively recognized in modern times. 
The various fine arts are like the several notes in music ; 
and music itself, in this relation, is that harmonizing prin- 
ciple by which they are united into something like a single, 
though complex art. 

But the element of music reaches to almost everything 
around us. We are, ourselves, first of all, subject to it. 
He is the most perfect man who, other things being equal, 
has the most music in him ; whose faculties are not only 
fully drawn out, but the most thoroughly harmonized. Ex- 
cellence in nearly every intellectual pursuit depends greatly 
upon the possession of some taste in music. Show me a 
truly eloquent speaker, a great painter, a distinguished ar- 
chitect, a famous sculptor, and I will show you a man who, 
when he hears a soft strain breaking out in the distance, is 
very apt to raise his head from his work, and exclaim, with 
Manfred, 

" 0, that I were the soul of that sweet sound !" 

The great writer, the man whose pen is dipped in sweet- 
ness, whose sentences flow along in a living stream of light 
and beauty, is a musician. There is a melody in the cur- 
rent of his style, a harmony in his periods, an ideal splendor 
in the graceful efforts of his pen, that mark him out as a 
favorite child of song. In a writer of an opposite character, 
there may be a sort of rude strength, a rough power, a 
bungling intelligence, a crude and indigested mass of learn- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 267 

ing ; but no harmony, no beauty, no power over the soul, 
nothing to strike our higher faculties with rapture, nothing 
to carry them up into the highest heaven of the ideal. 



LESSON CXXXII. 
A Belief in God. — Rev. Dr. Wightman. 

It is no small matter to believe in God. We are in the 
habit of talking of an infinite Spirit, as though we could at- 
tach a definite meaning to such words ; as though the facul- 
ties of the human mind could fathom an idea, which, traced 
to its elementary principles, is a simple negation. In the 
attempt to comprehend the essence of infinity, as to duration, 
for instance, we discard all limitation ; w.e expand the cir- 
cumference of our conceptions, until we are at length com- 
pletely baffled by the incomprehensible nature of infinite 
existence. We add one manifestation of creative power to 
another, and yet another ; review the vast aggregate ; con- 
ceive that to be carried on through an interminable series 
of augmentations ; and yet have we touched the boundaries 
of infinite power ? 

Far as the trembling wing of thought might carry us, 
there, creative energy unwearied, might be only beginning 
its fathomless manifestations. We labor at the conception 
of God's omnipresence. But how shall we understand that 
dread Presence which reaches throughout immensity of 
space, penetrating all matter, the witness of all thought, 
annihilating all distance, forestalling all concealment, em- 
bracing with intelligent glance a boundless field of vision, 
yet itself unapproached, unapproachable ! Or if we turn to 
the contemplation of what may be called the moral attributes 
of God, difficulties still follow us. Goodness must be the 
crown and glory of his moral perfections ; and yet could he 
be God without the attribute of inexorable justice 1 Can 
his goodness exist a moment without the foundation of un- 
sullied rectitude ? 

In thus " feeling after God" the mind becomes painfully 
conscious of the difficulties of the attempt. Yet were these 
difficulties a thousand fold greater, we must believe in God. 
To do otherwise would be not only to invalidate the testi- 



268 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

mony of nature in the outward world, but the testimony of 
the very constitution of our inner, moral nature. The con- 
sciousness of responsibility attaches as undeniably to all 
men, as the consciousness of thought or emotion. This is 
not an opinion to be questioned and proved ; it is a fact, as 
undeniable as human existence. But if there be responsi- 
bility, there must be law, divine government. 

Now, to those who are conscious of delinquency ; who know 
that they have sinned ; who feel that toward the dread Sove- 
reign whose creatures they are, they have been wanting in the 
veneration, gratitude, obedience, and love, which the law 
of this creatureship so obviously demands, it is a question 
of deepest concernment whether the divine administration 
is so flexible a rule as to allow, with impunity, known and 
acknowledged deviations from purity and moral obligations. 
If so, whether justice, strict and impartial, does or does not 
uphold law ? Whether the will of God does actually con- 
stitute a practical standard for the government of responsi- 
ble creatures ? Or whether, after all, there is for man, in 
any sober sense, a divine government at all 1 

If it be found impossible to discard the teaching of our 
moral constitution, and yet believe in God, the momentous 
inquiry is, has any provision of mercy, adjusted to the 
strictness of law, and in consonance with the principles of 
rectoral government, been instituted ? And here difficulties 
crowd upon us amain. We appeal in our speculations on 
the subject, to the goodness of God ; but goodness, for' the 
sake of the universal government, may require a strict and 
impartial, and primitive administration of law in this prov- 
ince of the divine empire. 

Goodness itself may claim and challenge that justice 
should not bend its rule, .lower its requirements, or relin- 
quish its lofty post of unsullied rectitude to meet the case 
of one alienated portion of the wide monarchy of the Su- 
preme Lawgiver. Thus do not men trifle with even human 
law. The security of society demands that the sanctions 
of human government should be upheld. The good of the 
whole requires the punishment of the evil-doer. And who 
shall say that the divine law, the rule of a government, 
wide as the skies, broad as the universe, high as the throne 
of God, shall not agree with universal justice and good- 
ness, and secure the protection of universal claim and in- 
terest ? 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 269 

LESSON CXXXIII. 

Christianity the Basis of Civilization. — Rev. R. Watson. 

There was a time, I believe, when there were theorists 
living, who preferred the savage to the civilized state ; who 
preferred the man in the wood, to man surrounded with all 
the advantages of enlightened society. Such theorists, I 
believe, have died with their dreams ; and the passion now 
is to extend civilization, and to carry it through the whole 
earth. I have no doubt this is in the order of God and his 
providence ; but, it is no easy matter to civilize men with- 
out Christianity ; and if any person were to allege the 
states of antiquity, I think we might reply that, in the mod- 
ern sense of the word, these states were not civilized. If 
we take civilization to imply that mankind live under equal 
laws, and enjoy all that liberty which is requisite to general 
order and prosperity, we may affirm that none of the most 
celebrated states of antiquity were civilized ; that the bulk 
of the people were brutal, ferocious, and enslaved; and that 
the splendor with which they appear on the pages of history 
is but " barbaric pomp and gold." 

In the middle ages, Christianity was employed in civiliz- 
ing the nations of Europe : its progress Was, however, re- 
markably slow ; and the reason was, that the Christianity 
applied was a mixed and adulterated Christianity. The 
fatal principle, as you well know, was introduced to treat 
the body of the people like children, not as men ; and for 
Christianity, they gave them superstition ; hiding from them 
the manly and elevating truths with which' it arouses the 
dormant spirit. So slow is man to learn, that the contrary 
experiment has been put in operation on a large scale, only 
by two of the great and leading nations of the earth ; Great 
Britain, and the United States of America. The precise 
character of this experiment is to make the plain, simple 
verities of Christianity, by the circulation of the Scriptures, 
and by preaching the word of God, to bear on the moral 
and civil condition of the whole body of the people. This 
experiment had, and still has, a vast mass of superstition 
and prejudice to fight against ; but this has been the result 
— that these are the two countries which lead on the great 



270 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

march of nations, and are in fact the lights of the world. 
Their liberty, and public virtue, and religion, are set on 
high, and are hailed as an example by the wise and good in 
distant lands who wish to conform their institutions to 
ours. I know there has been great debate about the philos- 
ophy of this fact ; but I will go for the solution of the diffi- 
culty to the South Sea Islands and to South Africa ; and I 
go there with a confidence of finding it. Now it is a fact, 
and a most interesting one, that there are, in those places, 
whole communities of men, who were but a short time ago 
savages, and as ferocious, and as bad as perfectly savage 
man can be, and that these have been raised into civiliza- 
tion ; and a civilization, too, more perfect than our own. 

There are now whole tribes of men enjoying all the ad- 
vantages of social life, paying respect to the Lord's day, and 
to the various institutions of religion, industrious, temperate, 
religious, living under just laws, and in perfect peace : 
and what is the solution of all this ? that from the first com- 
mencement of the process of their civilization, the verities 
of the Christian religion, in their simple form and majesty, 
were made to bear on their minds. They were treated as 
men, not as children ; there was no superstition presented 
to nip the opening intellect and to palliate vice ; but the doc- 
trines of man's fall, and his recovery, and his responsibility, 
and his need of the Gospel, and of the influences of the 
Holy Spirit, and the approach of a future judgment, were 
taught in all their native simplicity : these were the truths 
which entered into the very elements of their civilization, 
and the civil superstructure has been built solely upon 
them. * 



LESSON CXXXIV. 

Consumption. — Percival. 

There is a sweetness in woman's decay, 
When the light of beauty is fading away, 
When the bright enchantment of youth is gone 
And the tint that glowed, and the eye that shone, 
And darted around its glance of power, 
And the lip that vied with the sweetest flower, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 271 

That ever in fabled garden blew 
Or ever was steeped in fragrant dew, 
When all that was bright and fair is fled 
But the loveliness lingering round the dead. 

O ! there is a sweetness in beauty's close 
Like the perfume scenting the withered rose, 
For a nameless charm around her plays 
And her eyes are kindled with hallowed rays, 
And a veil of spotless purity 
Has mantled her cheek with its heavenly dye 
Like a cloud whereon the queen of night 
Has poured her softest tint of light ; 
And there is a blending of white and blue 
Where the purple blood is melting through 
The snow of her pale and tender cheek ; 
And there are tones that sweetly speak 
Of a spirit who longs for a purer day 
And is ready to wing her flight away. 

In the flush of youth, and the spring of feeling, 
When life like a sunny spring is stealing 
Its silent steps through a flowery path, 
And all the endearments that pleasure hath 
Are poured from her full, o'erflowing horn, 
When the rose of enjoyment conceals no thorn ; 
In her lightness of heart to the cheery song 
The maiden may trip in the dance along, 
And think of the passing moment that lies 
Like a fairy dream in her dazzled eyes, 
And yield to the present, that charms around 
With all that is lovely in sight and sound, 
Where a thousand pleasing phantoms flit, 
With the voice of mirth and the burst of wit, 
And the music that steals to the bosom's core, 
And the heart, in its fulness, flowing o'er 
With a few big drops that are soon repressed 
For short is the stay of grief in her breast ; — 
In this enlivened and gladsome hour 
The spirit may burn with a brighter power ; 
But dearer the calm and quiet day 
When the heaven-siek soul is stealing away. 



272 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

And when her sun is low declining, 

And life wears out with no repining, 

And the whisper that tells of early death 

Is soft as the west wind's balmy breath, 

When it comes at the hour of still repose 

To sleep in the breast of the wooing rose ; 

And the lip that swelled with a living glow 

Is pale as a curl of new fallen snow, 

And her cheek like the Parian stone is fair 

But the hectic spot that flushes there, 

When the tide of life from its secret dwelling 

In a sudden gush is deeply swelling, 

And giving a tinge to her icy lips 

Like the crimson rose's brightest tips — 

As richly red, and as transient too, 

As the clouds in Autumn's sky of blue, 

That seem like a host of glory met 

To honour the sun at his golden set ; — 

O ! then, when the spirit is taking wing 

How fondly her thoughts to her dear one cling, 

As if she would blend her soul with his 

In a deep and long-imprinted kiss ; 

So fondly the panting camel flies 

Where the glassy vapor cheats his eyes, 

And the dove from the falcon seeks her nest, 

And the infant shrinks to its mothers breast, 

And though her dying voice be mute 

Or faint as the tones of an unstrung lute, 

And though the glow from her cheek be fled 

And her pale lips cold as the marble dead, 

Her eye still beams unwonted fires 

With a woman's love and a saint's desires ; 

And her last fond lingering look is given 

To the love she leaves, and then to heaven, 

As if she would bear that love away 

To a purer world and a brighter day. 






PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 273 



LESSON CXXXV. 
Heaven in Prospect. — Henry Vaughan : A. D. 1650. 

They are all gone into a world of light 

And I alone sit lingering here : 
Their very memory is fair and bright, 
And my sad thoughts doth clear. 

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast 

Like stars upon some gloomy grove ; 
Or those faint beams in which the hill is dressed 
After the sun's remove. 

1 see them walking in an air of glory, 

Whose light doth trample on my days ; 
My days which are, at best, but dull and hoary 
Mere glimmerings and decays. 

O, holy hope and high humility, 

High as the heavens above ! 
These are your walks, and you have showed them me 
To kindle my cold love. 

Dear, beauteous death ! the jewel of the just 

Shining nowhere but in the dark, 
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, 

Could man outlook that mark ! 

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest, may know 

At first sight if the bird be flown ; 
But what fair field or grove he sings in now, 

That is to him unknown. 

And yet as angels in some brighter dreams 
Call to the soul, when man doth sleep, 

So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes 
And into glory peep. 



274 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

O, Father of eternal life, and all 

Created glories under thee, 
Resume thy Spirit from this world of thrall 

Into true liberty. 



LESSON CXXXVI. 

Address to the Ocean. — Byron. 

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ! 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 
Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 
When for a moment, like a drop of rain, 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffin'd, and unknowa. 

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee — 
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they ? 
Thy waters wasted them while they were free, 
And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey 
The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay 
Has .dried up realms to deserts ; not so thou, 
Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves' play — 
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow, 
Such as Creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, 
Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
Dark heaving — boundless, endless, and sublime — 
The image of Eternity — the throne 
Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime 
The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone 
Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 275 

And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy 
Of youthful sports, was on thy breast to be # 
Borne like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy 
I wantoned with thy breakers — they to me 
Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea 
Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, 
For I was, as it were, a child of thee, 
And trusted to thy billows far and near, 
And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. 



LESSON CXXXVII. 

The Jubilee of the Constitution. — J. Q,. Adams. 

This is the day of your commemoration : — the day 
when the Revolution of Independence being completed, 
the new confederated Republic, announced to the world, 
as the United States of America — constituted and or- 
ganized under a government founded on the principles of 
the Declaration of Independence — was to hold her course 
along the lapse of time among the civilized nations of 
the earth. 

From this point of departure we have looked back to 
the origin of the Union ; to the conflict of war by which 
the severance from the mother-country, and the release 
from the thraldom of a trans-Atlantic monarch, were 
effected, and to the more arduous and gradual progression 
by which the new government had been constructed to 
take the place of that which had been cast off and de- 
molished. 

The first object of the people, declared by the Constitu- 
tion as their motive for its establishment, to form a more 
perfect Union, had been attained by the establishment of 
the Constitution itself; but this was yet to be demonstra- 
ted by its practical operation in the establishment of jus- 
tice, in the ensurance of domestic tranquillity, in the provi- 
sion for the common defence, in the promotion of the gen- 
eral welfare, and in securing the blessings of liberty to thf 



276 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



people themselves, the authors of the Constitution, and to 
their posterity. 

These are the great and transcendental objects of all 
legitimate government, the primary purposes of all hu- 
man associations. For these purposes the confederation 
had been instituted, and had signally failed for their attain- 
ment. How far have they teen attained under this new 
national organization 1 

It has abided the trial of time. This day fifty years 
have passed away since the first impulse was given to the 
wheels of this political machine. The generation by which 
it was constructed, has passed away. Not one member ot 
the Convention who gave this Constitution to their country, 
survives. They have enjoyed its blessings so far as they 
were secured by their labours. They have been gathered 
to their fathers. That posterity for whom they toiled, not 
less anxiously than for themselves, has arisen to occupy their 
places, and* is rapidly passing away in its turn. 

A third generation, unborn upon the day which you com- 
memorate, forms a vast majority of the assembly who now 
honour me with their attention. Your city which then 
numbered scarcely thirty thousand inhabitants, now counts 
its numbers by hundreds of thousands. Your state, then 
numbering less than double the population of your city at 
this day, now tells its children by millions. The thirteen 
primitive states of the revolution, painfully rallied by this 
constitution to the fold from which the impotence and dis- 
uniting character of the confederacy, was already leading 
them astray, now reinforced by an equal number of young- 
er sisters, and all swarming with an active, industrious, ana 
hardy population, have penetrated from the Atlantic to the 
Rocky Mountains, and opened a paradise upon the wilds 
watered by the father of the floods. 

The Union, which at the first census, ordained by this 
Constitution, returned a people of less than four millions 
of souls ; at the next census, already commanded by law, 
the semi-centural enumeration since that day, is about to 
exhibit a return of seventeen millions. Never since the 
first assemblage of men in social union, has there been 
such a scene of continued prosperity recorded upon the 
annals of time. 

How much of this prosperity is justly attributable to the 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 277 

Constitution, then first put upon its trial, may perhaps be 
differently estimated by speculative minds. Never was a 
form of government so obstinately, so pertinaciously con- 
tested before its establishment— and never were human fore- 
sight and sagacity more disconcerted and refuted by the 
event, than those of the opposers of the Constitution. On 
the other hand, its results have surpassed the most sanguine 
anticipations of its friends. Neither Washington, noi 
Madison, nor Hamilton, dared to hope that this new ex- 
periment of government would so triumphantly accom- 
plish the purposes which the confederation had so utterly 
failed to effect. 

The Declaration of Independence had promulgated 
principles of government, subversive of all unlimited 
sovereignty and all hereditary power — principles, in con- 
sistency with which no conqueror could establish by 
violence a throne to be trodden by himself and by 
his posterity, for a space of eight hundred years. The 
foundations of government laid by those who had burnt by 
fire and scattered to the winds of Heaven, the ashes of this 
conqueror's throne, were human rights, responsibility to 
God, and the consent of the people. Upon these princi- 
ples, the Constitution of the United States was formed, 
was organized, and carried into execution, to abide the test 
of time. 



LESSON CXXXVIII. 

A Literary Dinner. — Irving. 

Mr. Buckthorn called upon me, and took me with 
him to a regular literary dinner, given by a great booksel- 
ler, or rather a company of booksellers. I was surprised 
to find between twenty and thirty guests assembled, most 
of whom I had never seen before. Mr. Buckthorn ex- 
plained this to me, by informing me that this was a busi- 
ness-dinner, or kind of field-day, which the house gave 
about twice a year to its authors. It is true, they did oc- 
casionally give snug dinners to three or four literary men 
at a time ; but then these were generally select authors, 
favourites of the public, such as had arrived at their sixth 
or seventh editions 



278 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

" There are," said he, " certain geographical boundaries 
in the land of literature, and you may judge tolerably well 
of an author's popularity by the wine his bookseller gives 
him. An author crosses the port line about the third edi- 
tion, and gets into claret ; and when he has reached the 
sixth or seventh, he may revel in champaigne and burgun- 
dy." 

" And pray," said I, " how far may these gentlemen have 
reached that I see round me ; are any of these claret 
drinkers V- 

"Not exactly, not exactly. You find at these great din- 
ners the common steady run of authors, one, two-edition 
men ; or, if any others are invited, they are aware that it 
is a kind of republican meeting. You understand me — a 
meeting of the republic of letters ; and they must expect 
nothing but plain, substantial fare." 

These hints enabled me to comprehend more fully the 
arrangement of the table. The two ends were occupied 
by two partners of the house ; and the host seemed to 
have adopted Addison's idea as to the literary precedence 
of his guests. A popular poet had the post of honour ; op- 
posite to whom was a hot-pressed traveller in quarto, with 
plates. A grave-looking antiquary, who had produced 
several solid works, that were much quoted and little read, 
was treated with great respect, and seated next to a neat 
dressy gentleman in black, who had written a thin, gen- 
teel, hot-pressed octavo on political economy, that was get- 
ting into fashion. Several three-volume-duodecimo men, 
of fair currency, were placed about the centre of the table ; 
while the lower end was taken up with small poets, trans- 
lators, and authors, who had not yet risen into much noto- 
riety. 

The conversation during dinner was by fits and starts ; 
breaking out here and there, in various parts of the table, 
in small flashes, and ending in smoke. The poet, who had 
the confidence of a man on good terms with the world, and 
independent of his bookseller, was very gay and brilliant, 
and said many clever things which set the partner next 
him in a roar, and delighted all the company. The other 
partner, however, maintained his sedateness, and kept car- 
ving on, with the air of a thorough man of business, intent 
upon the occupation of the moment. His gravity was ex 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 279 

plained to me by my friend Buckthorn. He informed me 
that the concerns of the house were admirably distributed 
among the partners. " Thus, for instance," said he, " the 
grave gentleman is the carving partner, who attends to the 
joints ; and the other is the laughing partner, who attends 
to the jokes." 

The general conversation was chiefly carried on at the 
upper end of the table, as the authors there seemed to pos- 
sess the greatest courage of ;he tongue. As to the crew at 
the lower end, if they did not make much figure in talking, 
they did in eating. Never was there a more determined 
inveterate, thoroughly-sustained attack on the trencher, 
than by this phalanx of masticators. When the cloth was 
removed, and the wine began to circulate, they grew very 
merry and jocose among themselves. Their jokes, howev- 
er, if by chance any of them reached the upper end of the 
table, seldom produced much effect. Even the laughing 
partner did not seem to think it necessary to honour them 
with a smile ; which my neighbour Buckthorn accounted 
for, by informing me that there was a certain degree of pop- 
ularity to be obtained before a bookseller could afford to 
laugh at an author's jokes. 

After dinner we retired to another room to take tea and 
coffee, where we were reinforced by a cloud of inferior 
guests — authors of small volumes in boards, and pamph- 
lets stitched in blue paper. These had not as yet arrived 
at the importance of a dinner invitation, but were invited 
occasionally to pass the evening "in a friendly way." 
They were very respectful to the partners, and, indeed, 
seemed to stand a little in awe of them ; but they paid de- 
voted court to the lady of the house, and were extravagant- 
ly fond of the children. Some few, who did not feel con- 
fidence enough to make such advances, stood shyly off in 
corners, talking to one another ; or turned over the port- 
folios of prints, which they had not seen above five thou- 
sand times, or mused over the music on the forte-piano. 

The poet and the thin octavo gentlemen were the per- 
sons most current and at their ease in the drawing-room, 
being men evidently of circulation in the west end. They 
got on each side of the lady of the house, and paid her a 
thousand compliments and civilities, at some of which I 
thought she would have expired with delight. Every 



280 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

thing they said and did had the odour of fashionable life. 
Finding nothing further to interest my attention, I took 
my departure soon after coffee had been served, leaving 
the poet, and the thin, genteel, hot-pressed, octavo gentle- 
man, masters of the field. 



LESSON CXXXIX. 
Melancholy Fate of the Indians. — C. Sprague. 

I venerate the pilgrim's cause, 

Yet for the red man dare to plead : 
We bow to heaven's recorded laws, 
He turn'd to Nature for a creed ; 
Beneath the pillar'd dome 

We seek our God in prayer ; 
Through boundless woods he loved to roam, 
And the Great Spirit worshipped there. 
But one, one fellow-throb with us he felt ; 
To one Divinity with us he knelt — 
Freedom ! the self-same freedom we adore, 
Bade him defend his violated shore. 

He saw the cloud, ordain'd to grow, 

And burst upon his hills in wo : 

He saw his people withering lie, 

Beneath the invader's evil eye ; 
Strange feet were trampling on his fathers' bones ! 

At midnight hour, he woke to gaze 

Upon his happy cabin's blaze, 
And listen to his children's dying groans. 

He saw, and, maddening at the sight, 

Gave his bold bosom to the fight ; 

To tiger rage his soul was driven ; 

Mercy was not — nor sought nor given ; 

The pale man from his lands must fly- 
He would be free — or he would die ! 

And was this savage ] Say, 

Ye ancient few, 

Who struggled through 
Young freedom's trial- day, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 281 

What first your sleeping wrath awoke 1 
On your own shores war's 'larum broke ? 
What turned to gall even kindred blood ? 
Round your own homes the oppressor stood ! 
This every warm affection chille'd, 
This every heart with vengeance thrilled, 

And strengthened every hand. 
From mound to mound 
The word went round — 

" Death for our native land !" 

Ye mothers, too, breathe ye no sigh, 
For them who thus could dare to die % 
Are all your own dark hours forgot, 

Of soul-sick suffering here % 
Your pangs, as from yon mountain spot,* 
Death spoke in every booming shot, 
That knell'd upon your ear ] 
How oft that gloomy, glorious tale ye tell, 

As round your knees your children's children hang, 
Of them, the gallant ones, ye loved so well, 
Who to the conflict for their country sprang ! 
In pride, in all the pride of woe, 
Ye tell of them, the brave, laid low, 

Who for their birthplace bled ; 

In pride, the pride of triumph then, 

Ye tell of them, the matchless men, 

From whom the invaders fled. 

And ye, this holy place who throng, 
The annual theme to hear, 
And bid the exulting song 

Sound their great names from year to year; 
Ye, who invoke the chisel's breathing grace, 
In marble majesty their forms to trace ; 

Ye, who the sleeping rocks would raise 

T 3 guard their dust and speak their praise ; 
Ye, who, should some other band 
With hostile foot defile the land, 
Feel that ye, like them, would wake, 
Like them the yoke of bondage break, 

* Bunker Hill. 



282 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Nor leave a battle blade undrawn, 
Though every hill a sepulchre should yawn- 
Say, have ye not one line for those, 

One brother-line to spare, 
Who rose but as your fathers rose, 

And dared as ye would dare 1 



LESSON CXL. 
The Future I dfe. — W. C. Bryant. 

How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps 

The disembodied spirits of the dead, 
When all of thee that time could wither, sleeps, 

And perishes among the dust we tread ] 

For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain 
If there I meet thy gentle presence not, 

Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again 
In thy serenest eyes the tender thought. 

Will not thy own meek heart demand me there — 
That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given 1 

My name on earth was ever in thy prayer : 

Shall it be banished from thy tongue in heaven ] 

In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind- 
In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, ■ 

And larger movements of th' unfettered mind, 
Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here 1 

The love that lived through all the stormy past, 
And meekly with my harsher nature bore, 

And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last : 
Shall it expire with life, and be no more ? 

A happier lot than mine, and larger light, . 

Await thee there ; foi thou hast bowed thy will 
In cheerful homage to the rule of right, 

And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. 

For me — the sordid cares in which I dwell 

Shrink and consume the heart, as heat the scroll ; 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 283 

And wrath has left its scar — that fire of hell 
Has left its frightful scar upon my soul. 

Yet, though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, 
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name, 

The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye, 
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same 1 

Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home, 
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this — 

The wisdom that is love — till I become 
Thy fit companion in that land of bliss % 



LESSON CXLI. 

BatarCs Reproof of Beelzebub. —-Milton. 

Fallen cherub ! to be weak is miserable, 
Doing or suffering ; but of this be sure, 
To do aught good never will be our task, 
But ever to do ill our sole delight, 
As being the contrary to his high will 
Whom we resist. If then his providence 
Out of our evil seek to bring forth good, 
Our labour must be to pervert that end 
And out of good still to find means of evil ; 
Which oft-times may succeed, so as perhaps 
Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb 
Jlis inmost counsels from their destined aim. 

But see ! the angry Victor hath recall'd 
His ministers of vengeance and pursuit 
Back to the gates of heaven : the sulphurous hail, 
Shot after us in storm, o'erblown, hath laid 
The fiery surge, that from the precipice 
Of heaven received us falling ; and the thunder, 
Wing'd with red lightning and impetuous rage, 
Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now 
To bellow through the vast and boundless deep. 
Let us not slip the occasion, whether scorn, 
Or satiate fury, yield it from our foe. 

Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild, 



284 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

The seat of desolation, void of light, 

Save what the glimmering of these livid flames 

Casts pale and dreadful ? Thither let us tend 

From ofFthe tossing of these fiery waves; 

There rest, if any rest can harbour there ; 

And, re-assembling our afflicted powers, 

Consult how we may henceforth most offend 

Our enemy ; our own loss how repair ; 

How overcome this dire calamity ; 

What reinforcement we may gain from hope ; 

If not, what resolution from despair. 



LESSON CXLII. 

The Voice of the Past. — Professor Larrabee. 

The past speaks of the perfectibility of human nature. 
Greatness is only comparative. It implies that one is above 
another. Were there no object of comparison, we could 
have no ideas of greatness. In estimating greatness we 
usually limit our comparisons to the present ; but in estima- 
ting the improvement of man, and his progress towards per- 
fection, we compare one age with another. As man in his 
individual character passes through four stages of exist- 
ence — childhood, youth, manhood, and age, so in his collec- 
tive or national character there are four similar periods. 
Every nation, every government, has its infancy, its youth, 
its maturity, and, as certainly, its decline. As surely as the 
human body has in its inmost nature the elements of decay, 
so every human institution has in its constitution the ele- 
ments of dissolution. 

Man as a race has had his infancy and his youth, and he 
may have, somewhere in the future, his maturity, and away 
in distant ages, his period, not of decay, but of change of 
sphere. But the past speaks to us only of infancy and of 
youth. She knows nothing of maturity, nothing of decay in 
the history of human nature. While individual man dies, 
while nations cease to be, the race dies not, human nature 
ceases not to exist. 

Man improves in knowledge. From the very dawn of 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 285 

human existence the race has gone on constantly increasing 
in science. From the time when Tubal Cain first began to 
handle brass and iron, man has been advancing toward per- 
fection in the arts. The ancient mariner ventured not be- 
yond the isles of the iEgean, or the Mediterranean, while the 
modern sailor explores 

" Seas not his own and worlds unknown before." 

The past speaks of the omnipotence of truth. Truth is a 
rock in the midst of quicksands. It lies on a deep and 
firm foundation, immoveable, though all around be fluctua- 
ting and changing. Truth is the pure gem, which rusts not, 
changes not its lustre, but shines on from age to age with in- 
creasing light. Truth is the lever which moves the world. 
By means of it the great work of human improvement is 
effected. Whoever wields this lever may be sure of success. 

On the omnipotent prevalence of truth the past speaks in 
language distinct, explicit, and certain. The past tells us 
of One, who, some two thousand years ago, in an obscure 
village of Palestine, appeared in human form, and with hu- 
man feelings, as the representative of truth itself. His 
message was disregarded, himself despised and rejected, and 
his life sacrificed to appease an angry mob. Before his de- 
parture, however, he called to his side twelve men of like 
passions with ourselves, and committed to them the truth, 
which he had come to reveal. To these he assigned the 
task of changing the faith and the religion of the world. 
They were obscure and unknown among men, unlearned in 
the wisdom of the world, and unaccomplished in the arts 
and refinements of society. But the truth rendered them 
invincible. They went before the Jewish Sanhedrim : they 
stood up before governors and kings, and even the emperor 
himself, and spoke the words of truth and soberness. The 
truth made them omnipotent. By its power they changed 
the habits, the faith, and even the civil institutions of society. 



286 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON CXLIII. 
Truth and Error. — Rev. Leroy M. Lee, D.D. 

Enough has been written in the defence, and for the 
propagation of the truths of religion, and in opposition to the 
increase and influence of error, to have given perfect triumph 
to the one, and to have erased from the annals of the church 
every stain and trace of the other. But these efforts, how- 
ever well directed and adequate to their end, have not al- 
ways been well timed. They have been like the alarm of 
war after the enemy has been permitted to take peaceable 
and uninterrupted possession of the country ; and hence 
error has been substituted for truth, and worshipped with all 
the blindness and infatuation of an idol deity. 

To oppose error with success, other means besides the de- 
fence and illustration of the truth must be employed and 
persevered in, and that with a diligence and ardor equal, at 
least, to the necessities of the case, and the importance of 
the object it aims to effect. Error must be exposed ; its 
nature, tendency, and deleterious influence must be ex- 
plained ; its malignity to its adherents, and its direct and 
poisonous effect upon everything excellent and lovely in re- 
ligion, must be developed. It must be exhibited in the de- 
formities of its real character, at variance, as it is, with 
truth, reason, and the fitness of things. Error may prevail 
for a season, but over truth it can never finally triumph. 
Of this its advocates must be well apprized, and hence, like 
a vast moral chameleon, it is perpetually changing so as to 
accommodate itself to the various conditions and changes of 
society, and to the prevalent popular opinions and prejudices 
of the times ; and it can excite no astonishment, if in the 
multitude of its alternations, its advocates should sometimes, 
on some subjects, be found on the side of truth ; but then 
this affords no evidence of a change in their principles ; 
their change is not because they love the truth, but because 
the truth is loved. 

And it is no meagre evidence in the behalf of truth, that 
while error has altered with almost every vicissitude con- 
nected with its history, truth has presented an unvarying 
character, and worn but one aspect, having, at all times, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 287 

among a variety of others, one distinguished recommen- 
dation — its perfect unsusceptibility of either change or de- 
cay. 

" Truth is mighty, and will prevail ;" and whatever may 
be the apparent success of error, the period is approaching 
when over error, prostrate and powerless, the truth of God 
will sway the sceptre of a mild and dignified, 'but universal 
triumph. In the accomplishment of this result" there is em- 
ployment for all who can either devise a plan, or wield a 
pen ; and upon such a subject silence is opposition, and in- 
difference is malignity unexpressed. 



LESSON CXLIV. 

Edmund Burke. — Blackwood's Magazine. 

The loss of his son had broken the heart of Burke, and 
in the midst of his thoughts of patriotism, fame and honour, 
he reverts perpetually to the melancholy recollection. Like 
some shade of the departed, the image of his dead son starts 
up before him wheresoever he turns his step. No matter in 
what great affairs he may be occupied ; no matter whether 
his foot be in the palace or in the field ; whether he give 
counsel to the disturbed and anxious minds of the nation, or 
confound with indignant eloquence and prophetic rebuke the 
multitude and their profligate teachers, the form of his son 
always moves before his sight, and he always acknowledges 
it, as reminding him that the world is closed upon his hopes 
and beckoning him to the grave. To others, this perpetual 
grief might be unmanly, because it would unman. To 
Burke's powerful and philosophic mind it diminished nothing 
of power, of generous zeal, of lofty perseverance. It solem- 
nized and sanctified. It palpably mingled the elevation of 
sacred feeling with the energies of his original genius. 

The bold partizan, the vigorous actor in public life, has 
disappeared. His views are more general, less concerned 
for triumph than for truth ; and, disposed as he was, by na- 
ture, to this expansion of view, and making obvious advan- 



288 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

C€S towards it in every successive period of his public ca- 
reer, it was now that he attained the full dignity and puri- 
ty of his powers. The same blow which had lain his son 
in thatouio, severed the last link which bound him to pub- 
lic life. The fetter fell away from his wing, and he at 
once sprang up above all the mists and obstacles which had 
before narrowed the circle of his vision. 

" Had it pleased God," he says with pathetic pride, "to 
continue to me the hope of succession, I should have been, 
according to my mediocrity, and the mediocrity of the age 
I live in, a sort of founder of a family. I should have left a 
son, who, in all the points in which personal merit can be 
viewed, in science, in erudition, in genius, in honour, in 
humanity, in every liberal sentiment and every liberal ac- 
complishment, would not have- shown himself inferior to 
the most distinguished nobles of the land. He had in him- 
self a silent, living spring, of generous and manly action. 
Every day he lived, he would have repurchased the bounty 
of the crown, and ten times more. He was made a public 
creature, and had no enjoyment whatever, but in the per- 
formance of some duty. At this moment, the loss of a fin- 
ished man is not easily supplied." 

Then follows the passage which has been so often pane- 
gyrized, and which, like some triumphal arch of Rome, at 
once a trophy and an emblem of mortality, will sustain, by 
the richness of its workmanship, all the admiration that can 
be lavished on its architect to the end of time: — " But a 
Disposer, whose power we are little able to resist, and 
whose wisdom it behoves us not at all to dispute, has or- 
dained it in another manner, and — whatever my querulous 
weakness might suggest — a far better. The storm has 
gone over me, and I lie, like one of those old oaks which 
the late hurricane has scattered about me. I am stripped of 
all my honours — I am torn up by the roots, and lie pros- 
trate on the earth. There, and prostrate there, I must un- 
feignedly recognize the Divine justice. But, while I hum- 
ble myself before God, I do not know that it is forbidden to 
repel the attacks of unjust and inconsiderate man. The pa- 
tience of Job is proverbial. After some of the struggles of 
our irritable nature, he submitted himself, and repented m 
dust and ashes. But even so, I do not find him blamed for 
reprehending those ill-natured neighbours of his, who vi 



PIECES FOIL HEADING AXD DECLAMATION. 289 

aited his dungliill to read moral, political, and economical 
lectures on his misery. I am alone, I have none to meet 
my enemies in the gate. I live in an inverted order. They 
who ought to have succeeded me, have gone before me.' 
They who should have been to me a posterity, are in the 
place of ancestors. I owe to the dearest relation — which 
ever must subsist in memory — that act of piety, which he 
would have performed for me. I owe to him to show 
that he was not descended from an unworthy parent." 



LESSON CXLV. 

Character of Lord Bacon. — T. B. Macaulay. 

One of the most remarkable circumstances in the history 
of Bacon's mind, is the order in which its powers expanded 
themselves. With him the fruit came first and remained 
till the last ; the blossoms did not appear till late. In gen- 
eral the development of the fancy is to the development of 
the judgment, what the growth of a girl is to the growth of 
a boy. The fancy attains at an earlier period to the per- 
fection of its beauty, its power, and its fruitfulness ; and, 
as it is first to ripen, it is also first to fade. It has general- 
ly lost something of its bloom and freshness before the 
sterner faculties have reached maturity : and is commonly 
withered and barren while those faculties still retain all 
their energy. 

It rarely happens that the fancy and the judgment grow 
together. It happens still more rarely that the judgment 
grows faster than the fancy. This seems, however, to have 
been the case with Bacon. His boyhood an! youth appear 
to have been singularly sedate. His gigantic scheme of 
philosophical reform is said by some writers to have been 
planned before he was fifteen ; and was undoubtedly plan- 
ned while he was still young. He observed as vigilantly, 
meditated as deeply, and judged as temperately, when he 
gave his first work to the world, as at the close of his long 
career. But in eloquence, in sweetness, and variety o 
expression, and in richness of illustration, his later writings 
are far superior to those of his youth. 



290 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

It is painful to turn back from contemplating Bacon's 
philosophy, to contemplate his life. Yet, without so turn- 
ing back, it is impossible to fairly estimate his powers. He 
*left the University at an earlier age than that at which most 
people repair thither. While yet a boy he was plunged 
into the midst of diplomatic business. Thence he passed 
to the study of a vast technical system of law, and worked 
his way up through a succession of laborious offices to the 
highest post in his profession. In the meantime he took 
an active part in every Parliament; he was an adviser of 
the crown ; he paid court with the greatest assiduity and 
address to all whose favour was likely to be of use to him ; 
he lived much in society ; he noted the slightest peculiari- 
ties of character and the slightest changes of fashion. 

Scarcely any man has led a more stirring life than that 
which Bacon led from sixteen to sixty. Scarcely any man 
has been better entitled to be called a thorough man of the 
world. The founding of a new philosophy, the imparting 
of a new direction to the minds of speculators — this was 
the amusement of his leisure, the work of hours occasion- 
ally stolen from the Woolsack and the Council Board. 
This consideration, while it increases the admiration with 
which we regard his intellect, increases also our regret 
that such an intellect should so often have been unworthily 
employed. He well knew the better course, and had, at 
one time, resolved to pursue it. 

" I confess," said he, in a letter written when he was 
still young, " that I have as vast contemplative ends, as 
I have moderate civil ends." Had his civil ends continu- 
ed to be moderate, he would have been not only the Mo- 
ses, but the Joshua of philosophy. He would have fulfill- 
ed a large part of his own magnificent predictions. He 
would not merely have pointed out, but would have di- 
vided the spoil. Above all, he would have left not only 
a great, but a spotless name. Mankind would then have 
been able to esteem their illustrious benefactor. 

We should not then be compelled to regard his charac- 
ter with mingled contempt and admiration, with mingled 
aversion and gratitude. We should not then regret that 
there should be so many proofs of the narrowness and sel 
fishness of a heart, the benevolence of which was yet large 
enough to take in all races and all ages. We should not 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 291 

then have to blush for the disingenuousness of the most de- 
voted worshipper of speculative truth, for the servility of 
the boldest champion of intellectual freedom. We should 
not then have seen the same man at one time far in tba 
van, and at another time far in the rear of his generation. 
We should not then be forced to own, that he who first 
treated legislation as a science, was among the last English- 
men who used the rack ; that he who first summoned phi- 
losophers to the great work of interpreting nature, was 
among the last Englishmen who sold justice. And we 
should conclude our survey of a life placidly, honourably, 
beneficially passed, " in industrious observations, grounded 
conclusions, and profitable inventions and discoveries," 
with feelings very different from those with which we now 
turn away from the checkered spectacle of so much glory 
and so much shame. 



LESSON CXLVI. 
On the Downfall of Poland. — Campbell. 

O sacred Truth ! thy triumph ceased awhile, 
And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, 
When leagued Oppression pour'd to Northern wars 
Her whisker'd pandours and her fierce hussars, 
Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 
Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn ; 
Tumultuous Horror brooded o'er her van, 
Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man ! 

Warsaw's last champion, from her height, survey'd, 
Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid : 
' O Heaven !" he cried, " my bleeding country save!— 
Is tl :ere no hand on high to shield the brave ] 
Yet, though destruction sweep those lovely plains, 
Rise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains ! 
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high ! 
And swear, for her to live ! — with her to die !" 

He said, and on the rampart-heights array'd 
His trusty warriors, few, but undismay'd ; 
12 



292 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, 
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ! 
Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly, 
Revenge, or death ! — the watchword and reply ; 
Then peal'd the notes, omnipotent to charm, 
And the loud tocsin toll'd their last alarm ! — 

In vain — alas ! in vain, ye gallant few ! 
From rank to rank your volley'd thunder flew : 
Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of Time, 
S armaria fell, unwept, without a crime ! 
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, 
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her wo ! 
Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd spear, 
Closed her bright eye, and curb'd her bright career ; 
Hope, for a season, bade the world farew r ell, 
^.nd Freedom shriek'd — as Kosciusko fell ! 



LESSON CXLVII. 

Saturday Evening. — Bulwer. 

The week is past, the Sabbath dawn comes on, 

Rest — rest in peace — thy daily toil is done ; 
And standing, as thou standest, on the brink 

Of anew scene of being, calmly think 
Of what is gone, *is now, and soon shall be, 

As one that trembles on eternity. 
For sure as this now closing iveek is past, 

So sure advancing Time will close my last — 
Sure as to-morrow, shall the awful light 

Of the eternal morning hail my sight. 

Spirit of good ! on this week's verge I stand, 

Tracing the guiding influence of thy hand ; 
That hand which leads me gently, calmly still, 

Up life's dark, stony, tiresome, thorny hill, 
Thou, thou in every storm hast sheltered me 

Beneath the wing of thy benignity ; 
A thousand writhe upon the bed of pain : 

I live — and pleasure flows through every vein 
A thousand graves my footsteps circumvent, 

And I exist — thy mercy's monument ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 293 

"Want o'er a thousand wretches waves her wand ; 

I, circled by ten thousand mercies, stand ; 
How can I praise thee, Father ! how express 

My debt of rev'rence and of thankfulness! 
A debt that no intelligence can count, 

While every moment swells the vast amount ; 
For the week's duties thou hast given me strength, 

And brought me to its peaceful close at length, 
And here my grateful bosom fain would raise 

A fresh memorial to thy glorious praise. 



LESSON CXLVIII. 

God. — Bo WRING. 
[Translated from the Russian of Derzhavtn.J 

O Thou Eternal One ! whose presence bright 
All space doth occupy, all motion guide ; 

Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight ; 
Thou only God ! There is no God beside ! 

Being above all Beings ! Mighty One ! 

Whom none can comprehend and none explore ! 

Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone : 
Embracing all, — supporting, — ruling o'er, — 
Being, whom we call God ! — and know no more. 

In its sublime research, philosophy 

May measure out the ocean-deep ; may count 
The sands, or the sun's rays ; but, God ! for thee 

There is no weight nor measure : — none can mount 
Up to thy mysteries. Reason's brightest spark, 

Though kindled by thy light, in vain would try 
To trace thy counsels, infinite and dark ; 

And thought is lost, ere thought can soar so high, 

Even like past moments in eternity. 

Thou from primeval nothingness didst call 
First chaos, then existence. Lord, on thee 

Eternity had its foundation : al? 

Sprang forth from thee — of light, joy, harmony, 

Sole origin ; — all life, all beauty thine. 
i3 






294 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Thy word created all, and doth create ; 
Thy splendour fills all space with rays divine. 

Thou art, and wert, and shalt be, glorious ! great ! 
Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate ! 

Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround, 

Upheld by thee, by thee inspired with breath ! 
Thou the beginning with the end hast bound, 

And beautifully mingled life and death. 
As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze, 

So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from thee ; 
And, as the spangles in the sunny rays 

Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry 
Of heaven's bright army glitters in thy praise. 

A million torches, lighted by thy hand, 

Wander unwearied through the blue abyss : 
They own thy power, accomplish thy command, 

All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. 
What shall we call them % Piles of crystal light 1 

A glorious company of golden streams % 
Lamps of celestial ether burning bright 1 

Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams? 
But thou to these art as the moon to night. 

Yes ; as a drop of water in the sea, . 

All this magnificence in thee is lost : 
What are ten thousand worlds compared to thee 1 

And what am I then % Heaven's unnumber'd host,— 
Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed 

In all the glory of sublimest thought, — 
Is but an atom in the balance, weighed 

Against thy greatness ; is a cipher brought 

Against infinity ! Oh ! what am I then ? — Nought ! 

Nought ! But the effluence of thy light divine, 

Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too ; 
Yes ! in my spirit doth thy spirit shine, 

As shines the sun-beam in a drop of dew. 
Nought ! But I live, and on hope's pinions fly, 

Eager, towards thy presence; for in thee 
I live, and breathe, and dwell ; aspiring high, 

Even to the tnrone of thy divinity. 

I am, O God ; and surely thou must be ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION.^ 295 

Thou art ! directing, guiding all, thou art ! 

Direct my understanding, then, to thee ; 
Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart. 

Though but an atom 'midst immensity, 
Still I am something, fashioned by thy hand ! 

I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth, 
On the last verge of mortal being stand, 

Close to the realms where angels have their birth, 
Just on the boundaries of the spirit land ! 

The chain of being is complete in me ; 

In me is matter's last gradation lost, 
And the next step is spirit — Deity ! 

I can command the lightning, and am dust ! 
A monarch — and a slave ! a worm — a god ! 

Whence came I here, and how so marvellously 
Constructed and conceived 1 unknown ! This clod 

Lives surely through some higher energy ; 

For, from itself alone, it could not be ! 

Creator, yes : thy wisdom and thy word 

Created me ! Thou Source of life and good ! 

Thou Spirit of my spirit, and my Lord ! 

Thy light, thy love, in their bright plenitude, 

Fill'd me with an immortal soul, to spring 
Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear 

The garments of eternal day, and wing 
Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere, 
Even to its Source — to Thee — its Author, there. 

O thoughts ineffable ! O visions blessed ! 

Though worthless our conceptions all of thee, 
Yet shall thy shadow'd image fill our breast 

And waft its homage to thy Deity. 
God, thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar, 

Thus seek thy presence, Being wise and good ; 
'Midst thy vast works admire, obey, adore ; 
And when the tongue is eloquent no more, 

The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude. 



i4 



296 N EW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON CXLIX. 
On Legal Reform. — G. C. Verplanck. 

In each and every step of legal reformation, I would 
keep one great principle ever before my eyes. It is to do 
nothing from mere theory or mere guess ; to be guided at 
every step by an enlightened public opinion, by experience 
and evidence of the defects of our law at home, or of the 
advantages of any alteration or modification of the same 
system in use elsewhere. 

Above all, as one not blind to the imperfections of our 
ancient law, not unwilling to amend its errors or defects, 
yet loving and honouring its spirit of freedom, its publicity, 
the republican character of its jury trial, its arbitrations 
and references, its jealous restriction of courts to the pro- 
vince of judges of the law alone, its confining the arbi- 
trary decision of judges even on the law by the authority 
of precedent, its numerous guards for the protection of 
life and liberty — and why should I not also add, its magni- 
ficent and instructive learning, quaint and strange, though 
some of it may be — above all, knowing this law to be, in 
its main and substantial parts, consonant to the usages and 
habits of the mass of our people and wrought into oui 
Constitution, statutes, customs, usages, opinions, and very 
language — I would carefully and zealously preserve it as 
the ground-work of all improvements. This was the law 
of our forefathers ; under this we ourselves were born and 
bred. It is susceptible of indefinite improvement without 
losing its substantial excellencies. Let us then prune off 
its deformities ; let us remedy its defects, whilst we rever- 
ently guard its substance. 

The wisest and the most efficient reformers, and those 
whose works last the longest, are they, who, like the 
framers of our General and State Constitutions, build on 
the old foundations. Their works have not the systemati- 
cal beauty of the wholesale reformer, but they prove far 
more convenient for all the varied uses of society. 

A great German poet, (Schiller,) has embodied this truth 
in noble and philosophical imagery. The path of mere 
power, to its object, says he, is that of the cannon ball, di- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 297 

rect and rapid, but destroying everything in its course, and 
destructive even to the end it reaches. Not so the road of 
human usages, which is beaten by the old intercourse of 
life ; that path winds this way and that, along the river or 
around the orchard, and securely though slowly, arrives at 
last at its destined end. " That," says he, " is the road on 
which blessings travel." 

The same general truth may be often seen exemplified 
in our republican legislation. There is a legislation, alter- 
ing, reforming, innovating ; but all upon deliberate inves- 
tigation, slow and cautious inquiry, and consultation in 
every quarter where light and knowledge may be gained. 
There is also the legislation of mere theory — sometimes 
the theory of the closet speculative reasoner — much of- 
tener that of another sort of theorist, who calls himself a 
practical man, because he infers his hasty general rules 
from his own narrow single experience — (narrow, because 
single) — as a judge, a lawyer, or a legislator. Such legisla- 
tion, when it prescribes great and permanent rules of ac- 
tion, resembles the rail road of the half learned engineer, 
who runs it straight to its ultimate end over mountain and 
valley, through forest and morass. Disregarding alike the 
impediments of nature and the usages and the wants of 
human dealings, he attains his end by the shortest way, but 
at an immense expense, with an utter disregard of private 
rights and public convenience. 

A wiser and a "better way is that which, in adopting the 
improvements of modern science, applies them skilfully 
in the direction that experience has found to be the most 
easy, or which time, or custom, or even accident has made 
familiar, and therefore convenient. That road winds round 
the mountain and skirts the morass, turns off to the village 
or the landing-place, respects the homestead and the gar- 
den, and even the old hereditary trees of the neighbour- 
hood, and all the sacred rights of property. This is the 
oad on which human life moves easily and happily — upon 
vhich " blessings come and go." 

Such, may we make that road on which justice shall take 
,ts regular and beneficent circuit throughout our land — 
such is the character we may give to our jurisprudence, if 
we approach the hallowed task of legal reform in the right 
spirit — if we approach it, not rashly but reverently— - with- 
id 



298 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



out pride or prejudice — free alike from the prejudice that 
clings to every thing that is old, and turns away from all 
improvement ; and from the pride of opinion, that, wrapped 
in fancied wisdom, disdains to profit either by the experi- 
ence of our own times or the recorded knowledge of past 
generations. 



LESSON CL. 
Capabilities of Humanity. — S. S Randall. 

It is a beautiful provision of our nature, fraught alike with 
intimations of its immortality, its native grandeur and up- 
ward tendency, that visions of greater excellence than any 
we can realize in our every-day life ; aspirations for a higher 
and nobler sphere of action than we find attainable within 
the confined limits which encompass us on every hand : and 
a faint appreciation of ideal beauty and sublimity, which, 
yet, with our limited faculties, we cannot hope except in 
imagination, to comprehend or realize — often hover around 
us in our better moments, and seem as with the whispering 
of angels' voices to bring us the intelligence and the fore- 
taste of a brighter and purer world. 

There are depths in the mind of every intelligent human 
being, to which the shafts of philosophy have never yet 
penetrated ; wells of living water, whose sources lie con- 
cealed far beneath the visible surface of character or emo- 
tion, which nevertheless are accessible to him who faith- 
fully explores the deep mysteries of his being, and which, 
when touched by the magic wand of truth and nature, can 
cause the " wilderness and the solitary places" of passion, 
of error and of guilt, to "bud and blossom as the rose." 
" There is," says Coleridge, " a one heart for the whole 
mighty mass of humanity, and every pulse in each par- 
ticular vessel, strives to beat in concert with it." 

That millions of the race pass through the world, in ig- 
norance of the capabilities of their nature, of its innumer- 
able chords of harmony, and its myriad sources of enjoy- 
ment — and that millions, perhaps, in all coming time will 
overlook the flowers of happiness scattered in bounteous 
profusion around their daily path, in the vain pursuit of 
unattainable and imaginary sweets, militates in no respect 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 299 

against the truth of this sentiment ; and while the reflection 
that this is, and will be the wayward fortune of humanity, 
should induce deep humility in view of the errors, frailties 
and weaknesses of our common natufe, the expanding circle 
of light, increasing by little and little, with every revolution 
of the wheels or time, may hopefully be deemed the har- 
binger of a brighter and better day. " The Eden of human 
nature has indeed long been trampled down and desolated, 
and storms waste it continually ; nevertheless, the soil is 
still rich with the gems of its pristine beauty ; the colors of 
Paradise are sleeping in the clods — and a little favor, a little 
protection, shall show what once was there !" 



LESSON CLI. 
The Poet of Solitude. — Shelley. 

There was a poet, whose untimely tomb 
No human hands with pious reverence rear'd, 
But the charmed eddies of autumnal winds 
Built o'er his mouldering bones a pyramid 
Of mouldering leaves in the waste wilderness : 
A lovely youth ; no mourning maiden decked 
With weeping flowers, or white cypress wreath 
The lone couch of his everlasting sleep : — 
Gentle and brave and generous — no lone bard 
Breath'd o'er his dark fate one melodious sigh — 
He lived, he died, he sang, in solitude. 

By solemn vision, and bright silver dream 
His infancy was nurtured. Every sight 
And sound, from the vast earth and ambient air, 
Sent to his heart its choicest impulses ; 
The fountains of divine philosophy 
Fled not his thirsting lips, and all of great, 
Or good, or lovely, which the sacred past 
In truth or fable consecrates, he felt 
And knew. When early youth had pass'd, he left 
His cold fire side, and alienated home 
To seek strange truths in undiscovered lands. 
Many a wide waste and tangled wilderness 
Has loved his fearful steps ; and he has bought 
With his sweet voice and eyes, from savage men 
h6 



300 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

His rest and food. Nature's most secret steps, 

He, like her shadow has pursued, where'er 

The red volcano over-canopies 

Its fields of snow and pinnacles of ice 

With burning smoke ; or, where bitumen lakes 

On black, bare pointed islets ever beat 

With sluggish surge, or where the secret caves 

Rugged and dark, winding among the springs 

Of fire and poison, inaccessible 

To avarice or pride, their starry domes 

Of diamond and of gold, expand above 

Numberless and immeasurable halls, 

Frequent with crystal column and clear shrines 

Of pearl, and thrones radiant with chrysolite. 

Nor had that scene of ampler majesty 
Than gems or gold, the varying of heaven 
And the green earth, lost in his heart its claims 
To love and wonder : he would linger long 
In lonesome vales, making the wild his home, 
Until the doves and squirrels would partake 
From his innocuous hands, his bloodless food, 
Lured by the gentle meaning of his looks ; 
And the wild antelope, that starts whene'er 
The dry leaf rustles in the brake, suspends 
Her timid steps, to gaze upon a form 
More graceful than her own. 

His wandering step, 
Obedient to high thoughts, has visited 
The awful ruins of the days of old — 
Athens, and Tyre, and Balbec, and the waste 
Where stood Jerusalem, the fallen towers 
Of Babylon, the eternal pyramids, 
Memphis and Thebes, and whatsoe'er of strange — 
Sculptured on alabaster obelisk 
Or jasper tomb, or mutilated Sphinx — 
Dark Ethiopia on her desert hills 
Conceals. Among the ruined temples there, 
Stupendous columns, and wild images 
Of more than man — where marble demons watch 
The Zodiac's brazen mystery, and dead men 
Hang their mute thoughts on the mute walls around, 
He lingered, poring on memorials 
Of the world's youth ; through the long, burning days 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION 301 

Gazed on those speechless shapes ; nor, when the moon 
Filled the mysterious halls with floating shades 
Suspended he that task, but ever gazed 
And gazed, till meaning on his vacant mind 
Flashed like strong inspiration, and he saw 
The thrilling secrets of the birth of time. 



LESSON CLII. 
Quarrel Scene, from Douglas. — Rev. John Home, 

GLENALVON AND NoRVAL. 

Glen. Has Norval seen the troops ? 

Nor. The setting sun, 
With yellow radiance, lightened all the vale ; 
And, as the warriors moved, each polished helm, 
Corslet, or spear, glanced back his gilded beams. 
The hill they climbed : and, halting at its top, 
Of more than mortal size, towering, they seemed 
An host angelic, clad in burning arms. 

Glen. Thou talk'st it well ! no leader of our host, 
In sounds more lofty speaks of glorious war. 

Nor. If I shall e'er acquire a leader's name, 
My speech will be less ardent. Novelty, 
Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration 
Vents itself freely; since, no part, is mine, 
Of praise, pertaining to the great in arms. 

Glen. You wrong yourself, brave sir ! Your martial 
deeds, 
Have ranked you with the great : but mark me, Norval ; 
Lord Randolph's favour, now exalts your youth, 
Above his veterans of famous service. 
Let me, who know these soldiers, counsel you : 
Give them all honour ; seem not to command ; 
Else, they will scarcely brook your late-sprung pow'r, 
Which, nor alliance props, nor birth adorns. 

Nor. Sir ! — I have been accustomed, all my days, 
To hear and speak the plain and simple truth ; 
And though I have been told, that there are men, 
Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak their scorn ; 
Yet, in such language I am little skilled. 



302 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Therefore I thank Glenalvon for his counsel, — 
Although it sounded harshly. Why remind 
Me of my birth obscure 1 Why slur my power 
With such contemptuous terms ] 

Glen. I did not mean 
To gall your pride, which now, I see, is great. 

Nor. My pride? 

Glen. Suppress it, as you wish to prosper ; 
Your pride's excessive ! yet, for Randolph's sake, 
I will not leave you to its rash direction. 
If thus you swell, and frown at high-born men, 
Will high-born men endure a shepherd's scorn ! 

Nor. A shepherd's scorn ! 

Glen. Yes ; — if you presume 
To bend on soldiers these disdainful eyes, 
As if you took the measure of their minds, 
And said, in secret,—" You are no match for me," 
What will become of you ] 

Nor. Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self? 

Glen. Ha ! — dost thou threaten me ? 

Nor. Didst thou not hear I 

Glen. Unwillingly I did ; a nobler foe, 
Had not been questioned thus. But such as thou ! 

Nor. Whom dost thou think me ] 

Glen. Norval. 

Nor. So I am; 
And who is Norval in G-lenalvon's eyes ] 

Glen. A peasant's son, — a wandering beggar boy ; 
At best, no more, even if he speak the truth. 

Nor. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth % 

Glen. Thy truth ! Thou'rt all a lie, and false as fiends, 
Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph. 

Nor. If I were chained, — unarmed, or bed-rid old, 
Perhaps I might revile ; but as I am, 
I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval, 
Is of a race, who strive not but with deeds! 
Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valour, 
And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword, 
I'd tell thee what thou art 1 know thee well. 

Glen. Dost thou not know Grlenalvon, bom to rule 
Ten thousand slaves like thee ] 

Nor. Villain ! — no more ; — 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 303 

Draw, and defend thy life. ( they draw their swords.) I did 

design, 
To have defied thee in another cause ; 
But Heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee. 
Now, for my own, and Lady Randolph's wrongs ! — 

(They fight.) 

Enter Lord Randolph. 

Lord Randolph. Hold ! — I command you both ; — 
The man that stirs, makes me his foe. 

Nor. Another voice than thine, 
That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph. 

Glen. Hear him, my lord, he's wondrous condescending ! 
Mark the humility of shepherd Nerval ! 

Nor. Now you may scoff in safety. — 

(Both sheathe their swords.) 

Lord Randolph. Speak not thus, 
Taunting each other ; but unfold to me 
The cause of quarrel ; then I'll judge betwixt you. 

Nor. Nay, my good lord, though I revere you much, 
My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment. 
I blush to speak — I will not — cannot speak 
The opprobrious words, that I from him have borne. 
To the liege lord of my dear native land, 
E owe a subject's homage ; but, even him, 
And his high arbitration I'd reject ! 
Within my bosom reigns another lord, 
Honour — sole judge, and umpire of itself. 
If my free speech offend you, noble Randolph, 
Revoke your favours, and let Norval go 
Hence, as he came, — alone — but not dishonour'd. 

Lord R. Thus far, I'll mediate with impartial voice: 
The ancient foe of Caledonia's land, 
Now waves his banners o'er her frighted fields. 
Suspend your purpose, till your country's arms, 
Repel the bold invader; then decide 
The private quarrel. 

Glen. I agree to this. 

Nor. And I do. Exit Randolph., 

Glen. Norval, 
Let not our variance mar the social hour, 
Nor wrong the hospitality of Randolph ; 



304. 



NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate, 

Shall stain my countenance. Smooth thou thy brow, 

Nor, let our strife disturb the gentle dame. 

Nor. Think not so lightly, Sir, of my resentment; 
When we contend again, our strife is mortal. 



LESSON CLI1I. 
TJie Child of Earth. — Caroline Norton. 

Fainter her slow step falls from day to day, 

Death's hand is heavy on her darkening brow, 
Yet doth she fondly cling to life, and say — 

" I am content to die, — but Oh! not now ! — 
Not while the blossoms of the joyous spring 

Make the warm air such luxury to breathe ; 
Not while the birds such lays of gladness sing ; 

Not while bright flo w'rs around my footsteps wreath* 
Spare me, great God ! lift up my drooping brow ; 
I am content to die, — but, Oh! not now !" 

The spring hath ripen'd into summer time ; 

The season's viewless boundary is past ; 
The glorious sun hath reach'd his burning prime ; 

Oh ! must this glimpse of beauty be the last ] 
" Let me not perish while o'er land and sea, 

With silent steps the Lord of light moves on ; 
Not while the murmur of the mountain bee 

Greets my dull ear with music in its tone ! 
Pale sickness dims my eye and clouds my brow; 
I am content to die, — but, Oh ! not now !" 

Summer is gone ; and autumn's soberer hues 

Tint the ripe fruits, and gild the waving com ; 
The huntsman swift the flying game pursues, 

Shouts the halloo ! and winds the eager horn. 
" Spare me awhile, to wander forth and gaze 

On the broad meadows, and the quiet stream ; 
To watch in silence while the evening rays 

Slant through the fading trees with ruddy gleam ! 
Cooler the breezes play around my brow ; 
I am content to die, — but, Oh ! not now !" 



PIECES FOR BEADING AND DECLAMATION. 305 

The bleak wind whistles : snow-showers, far and near, 

Drift without echo to the whitening ground : 
Autumn hath pass'd away ; and, cold and drear, 

Winter stalks on with frozen mantle bound : 
Yet still that prayer ascends : " Oh ! laughingly 

My little brothers round the warm hearth crowd ; 
Our home-fire blazes broad, and bright, and high, 

And the roof rin^s with voices li^ht and loud : 
Spare me awhile ! raise up my drooping brow ! 
I am content to die, — but, Oh! not now !" 

The spring is come again — the joyful spring ! 

Again the banks with clustering flowers are spread ; 
The wild bird dips upon its wanton wing : — 

The child of earth is number'd with the dead ! 
" Thee never more the sunshine shall awake, 

Beaming all redly through the lattice-pane; 
The steps of friends thy slumber may not break, 

Nor fond familiar voice arouse again ! 
Death's silent shadow veils thy darken'd brow : 
Why didst thou linger? — thou art happier now !" 



LESSON CUV. 

The Soul's Glimpses of Immortality. — Jane Taylor. 

The soul, at times, in silence of the night, 

Has flashes — transient intervals of light; 

When things to come, without a shade of doubt, 

In dread reality stand fully out. 

Those lucid moments suddenly present 

Glances of truth, as though the heavens were rent; 

And, through the chasm of celestial light, 

The future breaks upon the startled sight. 

Life's vain pursuits, and time's advancing pace, 

Appear with death-bed clearness, face to face ; 

And immortality's expanse sublime 

In just proportion to the speck of time ! 

Whilst death, uprising from the silent shade, 

Shows his dark outline, ere the vision fade ! 



306 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

In strong relief, against the blazing sky 
Appears the shadow, as it passes by ; 
And, though o'er whelming to the dazzle. - ? o/oin. 
These are the moments when the mind is sane. 



LESSON CLV. 

Rienzi's Address to the Men of Rome. — Miss Mitford. 

Friends, 
I come not here to talk. Ye know too well 
The story of our thraldom : — we are slaves ! 
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights 
A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beam 
Falls on a slave ; — not such as, swept along 
By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads 
To crimson glory and undying fame ; 
But base, ignoble slaves — slaves to a horde 
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords, 
Rich in some dozen paltry villages — 
Strong in some hundred spearmen — only great 
In that strange spell, a name. Each hour, dark fraud, 
Or open rapine, or protected murder, 
Cries out against them. But this very day, 
An honest man, my neighbour — there he stands — 
Was struck — struck like a dog, by one who wore 
The badge of Ursini ; because, forsooth, 
He tossed not high his ready cap in air, 
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, 
At sight of that great ruffian. Be we men, 
And suffer such dishonour 1 men, and wash not 
The stain away in blood ] Such shames are common. 

I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to you, 
I had a brother once, a gracious boy, 
Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope, 
Of sweet and quiet joy ; there was the look 
Of heaven upon his face, which limners give 
To the beloved disciple. How I loved 
That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years, 
Brother at once and son ! He left my side, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 307 

A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile 

Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour, 

The pretty, harmless boy, was slain ! I saw 

The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried 

For vengeance ! Rouse, ye Romans : rouse, ye slaves ! 

Have ye brave sons ] Look, in the next fierce brawl. 

To see them die. Have ye daughters fair ] Look 

To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, 

Dishonoured; and, if ye dare call for justice, 

Be answered by the lash. Yet this is Rome, 

That sat on her seven hills, and, from her throne 

Of beauty, ruled the world ! Yet we are Romans I 

"Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman 

Was greater than a king ! And once, again, — 

Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 

Of either Brutus ! — once again, I swear, 

The eternal city shall be free ! her sons 

Shall walk with princes ! 



LESSON CLVI. 
The Missing Ship. — Epes Sargent. 

61od speed the noble President ! A gallant boat is she, 
As ever enter'd harbour, or cross'd a stormy sea : 
Like some majestic castle she floats upon the stream; 
The good ships moor'd beside her, like pigmy shallops 
seem ! 

How will her mighty bulwarks the dashing surges brave ! 
How will her iron sinews make way 'gainst wind and 



wave 



Farewell, thou stately vessel ! Ye voyagers, farewell ! 
Securely on that deck shall ye the tempest's shock repel. 

The stately vessel left us in all her bold array ; 
A glorious sight, O landsmen ! as she glided down our bay ; 
Her flags were waving joyously, and, from her ribs of oak, 
" Farewell" to all the city, her guns in thunder spoke. 



308 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Flee, on thy vapoury pinions ! back, back to England flee ! 
Where patient watchers by the strand have waited long for 

thee ; 
Where kindred hearts are beating to welcome home thy 

crew, 
And tearful eyes gaze constantly across the waters blue ! 

Alas, ye watchers by the strand ! weeks, months have 

roll'd away, 
But where — where is the President % and why is this delay 1 
Return, pale mourners, to your homes ! ye gaze, and gaze 

in vain : 
O, never shall that pennon'd mast salute your eyes again ! 

And now our hopes, like morning stars, have, one by one, 

gone out ; 
And mute despair subdues at length the agony of doubt; 
But still Affection lifts the torch by night along the shore, 
And lingers by the surf-beat rocks, to marvel, to deplore ! 

In dreams I see the fated ship torn by the northern blast; 
About her tempest-riven track, the white fog gathers fast ; 
When lo ! above the swathing mist their heads the ice- 
bergs lift, 
In lucent grandeur to the clouds — vast continents adrift ! 

One mingled shriek of awe goes up at that stupendous 
sight ; 

Now, helmsman, for a hundred lives, O guide the helm 
aright ! 

Vain prayer ! she strikes ! and thundering down, the ava- 
lanches fall ; 

Crush'd, whelm'd, the stately vessel sinks — the cold sea 
covers all ! 

Anon, unresting fancy holds a direr scene to view ; 

The burning ship, the fragile raft, the pale and dying crew ! 

Ah me ! was such their maddening fate upon the billowy 

brine 1 
Give up, remorseless Ocean ! a relic and a sign ! 

No answer cometh from the deep to tell the tale we dread : 
No messenger of weal or woe returneth from the dead : 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION 309 

But Hope, through tears, looks up and sees, from earthly 

haven driven, 
The lost ones meet in fairer realms, where storms reach 

not — in Heaven ! / 



LESSON CLVII. 

Napoleon and the British Sailor. — Campbell. 

I love contemplating apart 

From all his homicidal story, 
The traits that soften to our heart 

Napoleon's glory. 

• 
'Twas when his banner at Boulogne 

Arm'd in our island every freeman, 
His navy chanced to capture one 

Poor British seaman. 

They suffered him, — I know not how, 
Unprisoned on the shore to roam, 

And aye was bent his youthful brow 
On England's home. 

His eye, methinks, pursued the flight 
Of birds to Britain half way over, 

With envy : they could reach the white 
Dear cliffs of Dover ! 

A stormy midnight watch he thought 

Than this sojourn would have been dearer, 

If but the storm the vessel brought 
To England nearer ! 

At last, when care had banished sleep, 

He saw, one morning — dreaming — doating, 

An empty hogshead on the deep 
Come shoreward floating ! 

He hid it in a cave, and wrought 

The live-long day — laborious, lurking. 

Until ho launched a tiny boat 
By mighty working ! 



310 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Heaven help us ! 'twas a thing beyond 
Description ! such a wretched wherry, 

Perhaps, ne'er ventured on a pond, 
Or cross 'd a ferry. 

For ploughing in the salt sea field, — 

'Twould make the very boldest shudder,— 

Untarr'd — uncompass'd — and unkeeled — 
No sail — no rudder ! 

From neighbouring woods he interlaced 
His sorry skiff with wattled willows, 

And, thus equipped, he would have passed 
The foaming billows. 

The French guard caught him on the beach, 

His little argus sorely jeering, 
Till tidings of him came to reach 

Napoleon's hearing. 

With folded arms Napoleon stood, 
Serene alike in peace or danger, 

And, in his wonted attitude, 
Addressed the stranger : 

" Rash youth, that wouldst that channel pass, 
With twigs and staves so rudely fashion'd, 

Thy heart with some sweet English lass 
Must be impassioned." 

" I have no sweetheart," said the lad ; 

" But — absent, years, from one another, 
Great was the longing that I had 

To see my mother." 

And so thou shalt !" Napoleon said; 
" You have my favour justly won : 
A noble mother must have bred 
So brave a son !" 

He gave the tar a piece of gold, 

And, with a flag of truce, commanded 

He should be shipped to England Old, 
And safely landed. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 311 

Our sailor oft could scarcely shift 
To find a dinner plain and hearty ; 

But never changed the coin and gift 
Of Bonaparte. 



LESSON CLVIII. 

Christian Courtesy. — Summerfield. 

The courtesy of the world is an imposing form, a delusive 
shadow, an artificial mode or fashion, which persons acquire 
under the discipline of their dancing-master. It is the art 
of adjusting the features of the face, and of managing the 
gestures of the body, independently of any corresponding 
affection of the heart ; a grimace learned with some degree 
of difficulty, and for the most part awkwardly performed. 
It is a hollow, treacherous, unsound appearance ; " a bruised 
reed, on which if a man lean, it will go into his hand and 
pierce it." Indeed, so palpable is the imposture, that none 
but children and other credulous and unsuspecting persons, 
who, to use a familiar phrase, have seen nothing of the world, 
are at all deceived by it. 

Mankind in general perfectly well understand, that no- 
thing is really meant by the punctilious interchange of their 
civilities ; and yet, strange as it may seem, almost every 
one will, at times, at least flatter himself that he plays his 
part so well, as effectually to blind the eyes of his neighbor, 
though he has too much penetration to be imposed upon 
himself. In this respect, however, notwithstanding all the 
self-complacency and vanity of the human heart, a man 
could scarcely fail to be sooner or later convinced of his 
mistake, if it were not that the affectation of being duped by 
his masked performances, constitutes one of the principal 
ingredients in the politeness of his acquaintances. 

But the courtesy of a Christian is not a mere form. It is 
not the phantasm of a feeling which has no real existence. 
It is the outward expression of an inward disposition, the 
conduct which a benevolent mind will, on all occasions, in- 
stinctively prescribe. It is the natural and unconstrained 
operation of unfeigned love. Let us but love our neighbor 



312 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

as ourselves, and it will be morally impossible to violate 
the laws of courtesy ; for love worketh no ill to his neigh- 
bor. It will teach us cautiously to avoid whatever might 
unnecessarily wound his feelings. It will dispose us assid- 
uously to study his inclination, ease, and convenience. It 
will make us anxious to interpret his very looks, that we 
may even anticipate his requests. It will enable us cheer- 
fully to make a sacrifice of our own gratifications, with a 
view to his. All this is perfectly easy : it is even delight- 
ful, where love exists without dissimulation ; but let the 
heavenly principle be wanting ; take away from the form 
of courtesy the power, and it becomes an arduous and irk- 
some task — a yoke grievous to be borne. 



LESSON CLIX. 
The Falls of Niagara. — Rev. J. Dixon, D.D. 

Our path across Goat Island brought us close to the 
American fall. I sat down on the roots of a tree, on a level 
with the crest of the cataract, and almost near enough to 
touch the waters with my foot. My companion, who had 
often seen these wonders of nature previously, left me alone, 
and amused himself by walking about the island. I sat 
silent and motionless a long time, looking with a sort of va- 
cant astonishment on the whole scene. The thoughts, " It 
is grand ! it is sublime ! it is awful !" crossed my mind, 
but nothing definite had fixed itself there ; all remained in 
the same confusion, chaos, stupefaction. At length, as if 
waking from a dream, I exclaimed, " How beautiful !" And 
then, in a moment, a thrill ran through my soul like an 
electrical shock, which at once scattered the mists ; and I 
exclaimed, loud enough to have been heard, " Ah, yes, that 
is it ! that is it ! — it belongs to the beautiful !" This was a 
new idea, a revelation, and transformed the whole scene in 
an instant into perfect unity and glory. 

With this general notion, this new instrument, I began to 
examine the several objects around ; endeavored to analyze, 
to separate the elements, to watch the extraordinary move- 
ments of the liquid machine which was moving so majesti- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 313 

cally around me ; and yet, at the same time, to combine, to 
grasp the whole. Is beauty compatible with sublimity ? 
Can the two attributes exist in one and the same object ? 
Must the sublime be necessarily devoid of the beautiful ? 
Must the beautiful be destitute, per se, of the sublime ? 
These are questions which have engaged the attention of 
great authorities. Generally speaking, they seem to have 
entertained the notion, that the ideas are incompatible ; 
that the beautiful and the sublime belong to distinct and 
separate departments, whether of nature or of thought ; and 
that no union, no harmony, no concord of circumstances, 
can blend the beautiful with the sublime, or the sublime with 
the beautiful, constituting them one and the same object. 
We venture to differ from these authorities ; and our proof, 
our demonstration, is the Falls of Niagara. 

No one doubts as to their sublimity ; the grandeur of the 
scene is too palpable, too imposing, too overwhelming, to ad- 
mit of doubt on this point. The subject admits not of rea- 
soning, it is a matter of mere sensation. No human being 
ever beheld these wonders without doing homage to this 
sentiment. Many have, probably, being unable to compre- 
hend their own sensations as they have looked upon the as- 
tonishing phenomena ; but they have felt their power, and 
been subdued into reverence and awe. It seemed almost 
impossible for me to stir for a great length of time ; an irre- 
sistible fascination seizing all my faculties, as if overshad- 
owed by the presence of a mystic power, whose voice was 
heard in the thunder of many waters, as well as his majesty 
seen in the grandeur of every object around. 

But the sensations of pleasure and happiness are produced 
by the beautiful ; and, at the time, I considered Niagara as 
the most sublimely beautiful object my eyes ever beheld. 
Heaven was most propitious ! The sun shone forth in all his 
glory, the skies were lofty, blue, clear, and stretched over 
an infinite span, an ample arch, such as is only seen in such 
climates on a summer's day. Seated on the roots of the 
tree before mentioned, I began to employ my new power, 
the idea of the beautiful, and soon found its use. Above 
the crest of the cataract the water was of a yellow color ; 
but I saw that as soon as it passed, with the exception merely 
of slight streaks of its primitive hue, and in one or two places 
of green, .which only heightened the effect, it instantly 



314 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

changed into perfect white. This brilliant and dazzling 
white, as pure and spotless as snow, was predominant, and 
gave its character to the whole scene. By intense gazing, 
I next perceived that the descending waters did not retain 
a smooth, glassy, streamlike surface, but broke into crystals, 
as the dew-drops of the morning, losing their watery appear- 
ance ; and were made brilliant and sparkling, like gems, 
by the illumination of the sun's beams. 

This magnificent expanse of crystals was next seen fall- 
ing from the precipice in countless myriads, not in confused 
heaps, but in perfect order, as an immense roll of beautiful 
drapery studded with brilliants, and united by the force of 
some common element. This unity and order is, in fact, 
one of the peculiarities of the scene. It might be expected, 
that the " flood of many waters" was dashed against stones 
and rocks, and broken into fragments. Not so. The flow 
is perfectly regular ; and the splendid sheet of white and 
dazzling fluid of gems is seen to fall in a regular and con- 
tinued stream. The only deviation from this regularity is 
the apparent formation of a beautiful curve at the Great 
Fall, the bend, or concave side, being inward ; whilst, be- 
low, the flood of white foam spreads itself out, like the robes 
of sovereignty at the feet of a mighty prince. But this 
splendid robe does not present the aspect of an even sur- 
face ; it is gathered into festoons, as if so formed for the 
purpose of ornament. The crest of the precipice is evi- 
dently uneven — there are rocky projections ; and yet these 
are not sufficiently great to divide and break the waters in 
their fall, whilst the stream retains its unity. The effect 
of this is to grasp the flood, as if by the human hand, into 
folds, which fall gracefully down, and add much to the 
beauty of the scene. 

Here, then, is the combination of beauties seen at Nia- 
gara. Let the reader imagine a rock, with a crest three 
parts of a mile in length, and one hundred and sixty or sev- 
enty feet above the level ground ; then let him imagine 
some mysterious power everlastingly rolling from this crest 
a robe of hoar-frost, white, dazzling, pearly, descending like 
beautiful drapery, festooned and varied, yet regular in form, 
with a long train spread on the level plain below ; and he 
will have the best idea which I can give of the garniture of 
Niagara. Conceptions are difficult — perfect description im- 



TIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 315 

possible : nature has, however, supplied us with the power 
of short ejaculations, in the place of all other means of 
expression ; and, after gazing with indescribable intensity 
on this glorious object, I could only exclaim, " It is like 
beautiful robes falling from the shoulders of a goddess !" 



LESSON CLX. 

The Poetry of the Bible. — Rev. Dr. Bangs. 

Are we lovers of poetry 1 Whence descended those 
pure and exhilarating streams of poetry with which the in- 
tellectual and moral world has been refreshed 1 Homer 
has no more right to be called the father of poetry, than 
Herodotus the father of history. The Grecian bard flour- 
ished only about nine hundred years before the Christian 
era, more than six hundred years after Moses recorded that 
sublime and pathetic ode of his sister, by which she cele- 
brated, in the highest and purest strains of gratitude, the 
miraculous passage of the Israelites through the Red Sea. 
And even allowing the time generally fixed to be correct, 
in which Orpheus tuned his lyre, Miriam preceded him 
more than three hundred years. And not less than six hun- 
dred years anterior to the time when Pindar sung his odes 
to commemorate the victories of his countrymen, David was 
pouring forth the sublime strains of poetry, in celebration 
of God's wonderful dealings with the children of men. The 
Bible, therefore, contains not only the purest and most lofty 
strains of poetry, but the most ancient, and the most worthy 
of remembrance and imitation. 

There is, indeed, no wish to detract from the bards of 
Greece, nor to cast a shade over any of the poets of anti- 
quity. Their excellence and eminence stand confessed by 
all who can appreciate their worth. Let them chant the 
praises of their gods and goddesses, of their statesmen and 
warriors, of their amorous and deadly exploits ; but, do not 
allow them to be put in competition with, much less placed 
before, David, Isaac, and a host of others, who so melodi- 
ously tuned their harps in praise of the God of Israel, and 
celebrated his works in the loftiest notes of poetry and song. 



316 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

These, indeed, rose high into the regions of thought, soared 
with expanded wings into the world of spirits, and kindled 
into ecstacy at the anticipation of future good, and in the 
contemplation of the unfolding glory of the divine per- 
fections. 

How could it be otherwise ? Their muse was fed from 
the holy altar ; and their theme was at once grand and sub- 
lime. While, therefore, their souls bowed under the weight 
of their subject, and their minds expanded in the contem- 
plation of the grandeur and loftiness of the august Being, 
whom they worshipped, and whose praises they celebrated, 
they became enwrapt in visions of glory, and they could 
not do otherwise, than tune their harps to the highest and 
most enchanting notes of poetry and song. 



LESSON CLXI. 

Popular Education. — Rev. Dr. Bethune. 

I need not describe in detail the various methods by 
which, in this age of advancement, you may impart knowl- 
edge. They are and always will be sufficiently obvious to 
a willing mind. Ever be found the advocates of education. 
Testify by the pains you take to spread it, your sense of 
the treasure 3 7 ou have yourselves received. Seize every 
fitting opportunity to impart it by your pen, your lips, and 
your influence. Shrink from the burdens and responsibili- 
ties of no good office that may enlarge your ability to do this 
good. Be the open and fearless champions of all legislation 
in aid of science, and art, and literature. Stand faithfully 
by those public men, who may meet with popular preju- 
dice, because of their efforts in behalf of a policy so wise. 
But especially devote your untiring energies to the improve- 
ment and increase of Common Schools. 

The Athenian pointed to the splendid Acropolis with ex- 
ulting pride, because he believed that there, in the match- 
less Parthenon, whose pure Pentelican and exquisite pro- 
portions are still beyond the dreams of architectural genius, 
was enshrined the Palladium of his country, the symbol of 
heavenly knowledge ; but were I asked to declare the pre- 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 317 

serving charm of our beloved country, I would lead the in- 
quirer not to the Capitoline height, where legislators but 
express the popular opinion, nor even to the halls of more 
erudite science, which can, at best, be trodden by few, but 
to the common school house. There the minds that rule 
the land are fashioned. There, under God, the destinies 
of the nation are determined. I have more fear and more 
hope from the troops of sturdy youth that ply their tasks 
within, or their sports without its humble threshold, than 
from all the mincing fops of fashion, or the mere rich that 
emulate at a ridiculous distance the pride and airs of for- 
eign aristocracy. I 

If you would serve your country well, if you would guard 
the suffrages of our free people from the arts of the dema- 
gogue, and nerve their hearts against the insidious encroach- 
ments of those who would buy themselves into power with 
the very money of the state, let the common school system 
be your most earnest care ; and especially the country com- 
mon schools, for whatever be the noise and pretensions of 
our cities, and however necessary it may be that the youth 
within them be trained, it is the country, the hardy yeo- 
manry, who eat the bread of their own honest sweat, that 
rule, ever have ruled, and will rule the state. 

Cherish, again I say, the common schools. Polygnotus 
after he had painted their heroes in the fresco of the Poecile, 
lived by a decree of the Amphictyonic council the guest 
of all Greece ! The Romans filled their atria and their 
public places with the statues of their illustrious ancestors. 
But far more worthy of a nation's gratitude is he who im- 
prints upon the fresh minds of the young, lessons that shall 
make them living examples of patriotic virtue. Far richer 
illustrations of the nation's glory shall those minds be which 
in early years have been moulded into moral beauty, and 
animated by fire from heaven, brought down, not by sacri- 
legious theft, but prayer. I speak in no disparagement of 
the Fine Arts. They have their high moral uses. Would 
that they were more cherished among us ! But there is no 
art so godlike as the education of young minds in truth. It 
is the nearest approach man can make to creating power. 



318 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON CLXII. 
God in his Works. — William Ford. 

I see Thee in each shrub that grows — 

Each flower and forest-tree ; 
The lilac, mountain-oak, and rose, 

Reveal a God to me. 
I see thee in the glassy lake, 

Which mirrors forth the sky ; 
I see thee in the humble brake, 

And heaven's blue concave high. 

I see thee in the waving grain, 

And in the lime-rock pile ; 
I see thee in the boundless main, 

And in the sea-girt isle ; 
I see thee in each sparkling gem, 

In constellations bright, 
Which circle, like a diadem, 

-The ebon brow of night. 

I hear thee in the matin hymn 

Of birds that hail the day, 
When Philomel, 'mid shadows dim, 

Pours forth his vesper lay ; 
I hear thee in the zephyr mild, 

Which fans the fev'rish flower ; 
And in the welcome wind so wild, 

That shakes the leafy bower. 

I hear thee in the ocean's surge, 

Along the rock-bound shore ; 
Jehovah's voice is in that dirge — 

In that eternal roar ; 
I hear thee when with lightning wheel 

Thy chariot-throne is driven ; 
Thy voice is in the thunder-peal 

That shakes the dome of heaven ! 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 319 

I know thou art in all above — 

In ocean, earth, and air. 
All speak of wisdom, power, and love ; 

Thy glory all declare : 
But then to know a better part, 

To me my God has given ; 
To know he dwells within my heart — 

To feel a hope in heaven ! 



LESSON CLXIII. 

The Triumph of Christianity. — Bishop Bascom. 

Christianity is identified with the growth and the glory 
of ages. Against the foes of her faith and her fold, with 
unquailing eye and unfaltering tread she held her onward 
course, unawed and unsubdued by the intrigue of courts 
and the hostility of camps, hireling villainy and diplomatic 
guile ! She met the perils of flood and field, disaster and 
death, vengeance and massacre, in their darkest forms; 
sometimes noiselessly extending her plans of evangelization 
among the tribes of paganism, without offering resistance to 
her enemies, and at others hurling thunder at thrones, and 
pronouncing the doom of nations. When streams of gal- 
lant blood, welling from the wounds of a million of martyrs, 
stained the scaffolds, deluged the plains, mingled with the 
rivers, or lay like dew in the valleys of Christendom, she 
bore, until further forbearance would have been cruelty to 
virtue, infidelity to her cause, and then she aimed a blow of 
Heaven's deadliest wrath, and smote her enemies with a 
thousand thunder-bolts at once. The hand of oppression 
was paralyzed, the smile of infidelity transformed to a groan 
in the very act of parturition ; and, by a judgment power- 
ful as fate, she compelled even her enemies to kneel and do 
homage to her banners. And, still the same, the citadel of 
our faith is seen rising before you, with no trace of time or 
stain of sin, standing amid earth's strong vicissitudes like 
eternal Lebanon, with her diadem of cedars pointing to 
heaven, while the desolation of ages are piled at her feet 
and storied in her shadow. 



320 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

Cast your eye over the world. The monuments of her 
glory reflect the lustre of every star, and no wind blows 
that does not waft from the shores of the nations she has 
subdued, some freights of charity intended to subdue others. 

The indestructible elements of rejuvenescence and im- 
mortality found in the gospel, will secure the triumph and 
multiply the conquests of Christianity, until the empire of 
sin is destroyed, and death is swallowed up in victory : until 
the road to hell shall lie waste and desolate beneath her 
frown, and the path of life, reposing in her smile, shall be 
thronged with travellers, as stars bestud and crowd the broad 
galaxy of the heavens. Let me but contribute to augment 
this exulting throng of Christian immortals, and I will know 
no other ambition. Sharing in this lofty distinction, I have 
but one word for the world — I ask but a single boon of 
earth — it is, oppress me with no other pre-eminence. Let 
the broken hearts I have spent my life in binding up — the 
wounded spirits I may have healed — be the throne and the 
evidence of my triumph : 

" Carve not a line, raise not a stone, but leave nae alone with my glory" 

Do you doubt this triumph of the gospel ? Look back, 
and see what Christianity has done, and infer the future from 
the past. However assailed by the rival powers of force 
and intellect, Christianity has met and resisted every shock, 
only to rise and reappear before her enemies, like the vis- 
ioned war-tower of some primeval world, unmoved and un- 
affected by the changes of time, in the chances of doom ! 
If her first disciples were fated to give their lives to their 
Pagan persecutors ; dying, they overthrew the altars of their 
gods, and distant nations and after ages have felt the force 
of their example and followed in their steps. But Chris- 
tianity will be avenged still more. Yet a little while and 
never again shall the powerful and the lawless, write their 
caprices in blood, and seal them by death. Yet a little 
while, and persecution and oppression for conscience' sake, 
shall be read as an inscription fit only for the gates of hell. 
A few more redeeming revolutions, and all nations shall be- 
come the great confederation — one vast congress of peace 
and justice, confidence and piety ; and Christianity, en- 
throned in the hearts of all, shall become immortal in the 
consciousness of triumphant virtue I 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 321 

LESSON CLXIV. 

On the Public Worship of God. — Rev. Dr. Summers. 

All who have any knowledge of God admit the propriety 
of worshipping him as a God, notwithstanding many with- 
hold that worship. This duty grows out of the relations 
which we sustain to the divine Being, and the blessings we 
receive from him. Now he is the God of communities as 
well as of individuals ; and in our collective as well as in 
our individual capacity we receive blessings from his hands. 

So perverse and vicious is human nature, that, were it 
not for the influences of divine grace, which are continually 
exerted upon the hearts of men, it would be impossible to 
perpetuate human society on the earth. The rights of 
property, person, and character would not be regarded at 
all. The restraints of human government would be borne 
away by the violent passions of men ; and the anarchy of 
society would soon pave the way to the anchoritism of soli- 
tude. Were it not for the superintending care and arrange- 
ments of Providence, it would be impossible for the various 
operations and enterprises of social life to be conducted to a 
successful issue. 

Not only are our agricultural interests promoted by Him 
who causeth his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and 
who sendeth rain upon the just and upon the unjust ; but 
the winds of heaven fill the sail of commerce, and waft " the 
ships of desire." The inspiration of the Almighty giveth 
understanding to our artists, and " the strength of Israel" 
maketh our operatives " strong to labor." It is He that 
teaches our senators wisdom, and our exactors righteousness. 
Now all these orders and classes of men are necessary to the 
prosperity and well-being of society. Indeed, they may be 
considered its essential constituents. And therefore, as 
society exists by the appointment and providence of God, it 
is clear that, in our social capacity, we sustain a relation 
to the divine Being involving obligations which cannot be 
discharged in the absence of public worship. This duty 
has, therefore, the clearest dictates of reason for its basis. 
14* 



322 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 



LESSOxN CLXV. 

Pepper Dust — From the Life of Samuel Budgett. — William 
Arthur, A.M. 

In Mr. Budgett's early days, pepper was under a heavy 
tax ; and in the trade, universal tradition said, that out of the 
trade everybody expected pepper to be mixed. In the shop 
stood a cask labelled P. D., containing something very like 
pepper dust, wherewith it was usual to mix the pepper before 
sending it forth to serve the public. The trade tradition had 
obtained for the apocryphal P. D. a place amongst the stan- 
dard articles of the shop, and on the strength of that tradi- 
tion it was vended for pepper by men who thought they 
were honest. But as Samuel went forward in life his ideas 
on trade morality grew clearer. This P. D. began to give 
him much discomfort. He thought upon it till he was satis- 
fied that, when all that could be said was weighed, the thing 
was wrong. Arrived at this conclusion, he felt that no bless- 
ing could be upon the place while it was there. He in- 
stantly decreed that P. D. should perish. It was night ; but 
back he went to the shop, took the hypocritical cask, carried 
it forth to the quarry, then staved it, and scattered P. D. 
among the clods, and slag, and stones. He returned with a 
light heart. But he recollected that he had left the staves 
of the cask in the quarry ; and as there was no need to let 
them go to waste, his first act in the morning was to return 
and gather them up. 

Now, ye busy shopmen, and ye, more lordly merchants, 
say, before the only witness who beheld that act under the 
night heaven, have you no P. D., which ought to be scattered 
before you go to sleep ? Your thought turns toward some- 
thing ; you were taught it ; men worthy in their way justify 
it ; you are able to laugh others out of their scruples about 
it ; you argue with yourself till it appears " fair enough ;" 
but do for once just go to your private room, and sit down, 
and think. Be rational for a moment or two; do not refuse 
to converse alone with your conscience and your God ; ay, 
go down upon your knees and pray for light, for it is no 
small matter to be doing wrong. You may smile at it, you 
may gloss it over, you may " pooh-pooh" warning ; but 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 323 

wrong is wrong, and there is a Judge above us ; wrong is 
wrong, and it will find you out. Be sure this world is not a 
lawless common, where all who can may plunder and go 
harmless : it is a kingdom with a strong, just King, whose 
laws cannot be broken, whose subjects cannot be ill treated 
in his sight, without bringing upon the offender a becoming 
punishment. * 

This world of ours contains a great deal of P. D. The 
ship-owner has a ship which has become too old to carry 
sugar from the West Indies without damaging it by leak- 
age ; so he fits her out as a passenger ship, and advertises 
her for Sydney, as "the well-known, favorite, fast-sailing 
ship ;" and that is P. D. The corn merchant has a cargo 
damaged in a gale at sea ; but as the underwriters will not 
pay unless the captain can swear that the vessel struck, the 
merchant, who was snug in his bed when the gale blew, 
tries to show the captain very conclusively that, just off 
Flamborough Head, the keel did actually touch the ground, 
and that therefore he may safely take the requisite oath ; 
and that is P. D. The private banker, who feels that he is 
sinking, takes a finer house, starts an additional carriage, 
and sets up for a member of parliament, that people may 
think he scarcely knows what to do with his money ; and 
that is P. D. The director of a joint-stock bank who sees 
that the concern is hollow, sells out his own shares, but re- 
tains his place, till the three years during which he is liable 
are past, that no one else may take fright; and this is P. D. 
The shareholder gets up a rumour that the Petty-borough 
railway is going to be amalgamated with the Great Central 
line ; and this is P. D. 

The warehouseman is standing by a parcel of goods 
which have been on his hands for some weeks, a customer 
enters and is received with smiles. " Are these new ?" 
"The latest things we have — just out; in fact I almost 
thought you would look in to-day, and have this moment 
had the parcel opened for you;" and. that is P. D. The 
glove-seller is asked for Dent's gloves, and produces you 
an article which never passed through Dent's hands, or cost 
Dent's price. " These are not Dent's." " I beg your par- 
don, they are Dent's best ; I bought them there myself;" 
and that is P. D. If you go on you will be astonished how 
P. D. is in most places ; in books, at the board of cabinet 



324 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

councils, in senates, in journals, in the landlord's office, in 
the farmer's market-room, in the milkman's pails, in the 
undertaker's plumes, in the druggist's phials, in the lawyer's 
bag, on sparkling belles, at the royal ball, in the dens of 
low dealers and thieves. In fact, if some just power were 
to-night to take all the P. D. casks in this great shop we 
call the world, and stave them in, scattering the deceitful 
contents to the wind, there would be such a confusion to- 
morrow morning that the whole shop would have to be re- 
arranged. 



LESSON CLXVI. 

Tears. — By O. J. Victor. 

Room for the early dead ! 
A couch for her weary frame, 
And a pillow to lay her head 
Where never in dreams it hath lain ; 
Down, down in the grave so narrow and deep, 
Yet never so low but angels will keep. 

Room for the lovely dead ! 
And flowers to strew her bier ; 

A wreath to lay o'er her head, 
And an urn for the mourner's tear. 
When the lovely and gentle lie sleeping 
The angels are watching the weeping. 

Room for the peaceful dead ! 
Room for the beautiful clay ! 

No place more befittingly made, 
To soothe life's cares away. 
Deep, deep the repose, so silent and deep, 
Ah, who would awaken the slumberer from sleep ! 

Room, room for the happy dead ! 
A couch for her weary frame, 
And a pillow to lay her head 
Where Christ the Redeemer hath lain ; 
With a smile like the morning she glided away — 
As dew in the morning she vanished in day. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 325 

LESSON CLXVII. 
The Bible.— Rev. Dr. G. F. Pierce. 

The Bible deals not in subtile analogies and cold abstrac- 
tions, but in the healthful virtues of life. It comes home to 
the heart, and makes its truths the subject of consciousness, 
whereby we exclaim, " That which was from the begin- 
ning, which we have heard, which we -have seen with our 
eyes, which we have looked upon, and our hands have 
handled, of the word of life." It recommends itself to 
every man's conscience in the sight of God, by the excel- 
lence of its law and the conclusiveness of its testimony, so 
that even human depravity, when it walks amid its pre- 
cepts, is compelled, like the devils among the tombs, to ac- 
knowledge the purity of its morals and the holiness of its 
presence. The genealogy of its proof demonstrates it to be 
the same yesterday, to-day, and forever; the faith that jus- 
tified righteous Abel, and whereby Enoch walked with God ; 
the faith by which Abraham kept the covenant ; the impor- 
tunity by which Moses prevailed, and the penitential sighs 
of David, still attract the notice of heaven, and call down the 
blessing of God ; the baptism of the Spirit still attends on 
the ministration of the word ; and though no cloven tongues 
of fire flame from the lips of proselytes, the heart still palpi- 
tates beneath the warm breathings of the Holy Ghost, be- 
fore whose stately steppings the human reason falls in rev- 
erence, and the human fancy cowers in astonishment. 

The Bible is adapted to all classes, ends, and states of 
men ; and where it fails to save, it never fails to refine. 
The conviction of its truths is sustained by what man feels 
within him and sees without him ; and however invisible its 
operations, and however difficult to trace its effects to their 
source, it still operates slowly and surely, and builds the 
monuments of its divinity by the moral changes it creates. 
Whatever skepticism may insinuate of its improbability, 
whatever malignity may coin of its worthless tendency, 
it is still the rejoicing of us all, that the leaven is in the 
meal, and will surely penetrate the whole lump — that the 
mustard-seed, the smallest of all seeds, is in the soil, and 
will shoot forth its trunk and its branches, and cover itself 



326 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

with foliage, in which the birds may nestle and take repose 
from the heat of the day. For the divinity of the record, 
for the truth of its testimony, for the defence of our calling, 
and the justification of our ministrations, we rely singly and 
solely upon the inherent energies of God in the book. 

There may be nothing in the operations of the Bible, to 
attract the notice of the great world ; but simplicity is 
nature's great law. The cloud that passes along without 
the pomp of thunder or lightning, pours from its generous 
bosom the gentle rain to gladden the earth, and makes the 
garden to smile and blossom. Philosophy, however, propo- 
ses, herself as the regenerator of the race. Standing out at 
the base of human corruption, with her form but half re- 
vealed by the artificial glare about her, she talks to the vic- 
tim who is wallowing in filth and uncleanness, about fate and 
necessity, and leaves the miserable wretch disconsolate in 
his lot, diseased in his fancy, and bankrupt in his hopes. 
But the Bible at one breath sweeps off the mists from this 
palpitating mass of festering rottenness, reveals the present 
and the future to the eye of the morally maimed and halt, 
and says to them, as unto the man at the pool, " Arise, for 
thy redemption is near." 

The Bible is a source of consolation in the calamities of 
life, and is equally adapted to the rich and the poor. But 
there are privations in the lot of the poor, which make its 
teachings peculiarly necessary. The beams of the sun are 
never more grateful than when he bursts from the clouds 
and the storm ; and in like manner, the Bible is never more 
welcome than when its leaves come distributing consolation 
to the needy, the desolate, and the heart-stricken of earth. 
The primitive denunciation falls heavily upon the poor man ; 
and when all other resources fail, where shall he look for 
consolation but to Him who cares for all — to Him who lis- 
tens to the chirping of the lone sparrow upon the wintry 
hedges of the world, and sees the parched lily drooping 
with heat and blight ? Fear not, then ; for are ye not of 
much more value than many sparrows ? The Bible it tells 
that He feeds the ravens, and hears the young lions when 
they roar ; and thus, when man is forsaken and his house and 
his earthly fortunes left unto him desolate, it tells him that 
God, his friend, looks down from heaven, and careth for 
these things. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 327 



LESSON CLXVIII. 

The Indifference of the World towards its Benefactors. — 
Rev. Dr. Kennaday. 

Fortune exhibits her caprice in nothing more than in the 
bestowment of fame. There are numerous instances, it can- 
not be denied, in which she has been faithful, and in which 
she has entwined undying garlands upon the brow of the 
deserving. But, perhaps, in as many instances, she has 
suffered the virtuous, industrious, and more meritorious, to 
pass away unnoticed ; their deeds embalmed in usefulness 
that can never expire, while their names have long since 
been forgotten. A thousand times have we admired the he- 
roism of the Spartan band, who, led by Leonidas at Ther- 
mopylae, sacrificed themselves, and diffused throughout their 
country that unconquerable spirit which gave successful 
resistance to the millions of the tyrant fool of Persia, and 
scattered his fleet on the sea of Salamis. Yet no historian 
has given us the record of their names. 

Poets have sung their deeds, and bosoms in earlier years 
have been fired by the recital of their names ; but the " list 
is rolled up as a parchment scroll." " Thus the deed shall 
be emblazoned till the heavens be no more ;" while those 
who gloriously achieved it, shall remain unknown. Thou- 
sands, in ages past, assembled in imperial Rome, have stood 
at the base of Pompey's statue, and marked the spot where 
Caesar fell, or had lofty thoughts awakened in pondering 
upon the giant prowess of Pompey, and tracing the manly 
bearing of his form. But who was the sculptor whose 
chisel aroused these thoughts ? Long, perhaps, before time 
had brought a mildew on his work, the artist's name had 
perished from his country, or if it long lived to kindle en- 
thusiasm among the votaries of the finer arts, that name 
shares not now the glory of being associated with the clas- 
sics of Rome. 

In every science, in every art, we are daily conversant 
with matters of undoubted utility — all contributing to our 
happiness ; and yet we scarcely ever pause to ask whose 
mind first grasped in its conception their design. This 
gives us painful evidence of a tendency we cannot rectify, 



329 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

and by which we should not suffer ourselves to be dis- 
mayed. The world is too generally and culpably indiffer- 
ent towards the benefactors of mankind. How kw of the 
millions who now traverse the ocean in quest of health, or 
knowledge, ever reflect upon their indebtedness to the dis- 
coverer of the magnet, or the inventor of the quadrant. 

How great are the advantages which almost every branch 
of natural science is acquiring, from the assiduous efforts 
of Roger Bacon. But while his discoveries and develop- 
ments are contributing so much to the cause of knowledge, 
how few feel their indebtedness to this Archimedes of the 
middle ages, or even pause to accord to him the homage of 
admiration due to his invincible perseverance, amid the ca- 
pricious prejudices of the vulgar, and the sterner opposition 
of the powerful. 



LESSON CLXIX. 
The Sunset Hour. — By Rev. H. P. Andrews. 

'Tis sunset's holy hour, 
And like a flood of molten light, 

On wood and vine-clad bower, 
The sun's departing beams are pouring bright. 

List to the bird's sweet song; 
How thrills the heart that tissued lay, 

Borne by the breeze along ; 
How soft its cadence as it dies away ! 

Not as at early day, 
When on our dreams there steals a thrill 

Of music, light and gay, 
But chastened as the thoughts that memory fill. 

How beautiful the trees, 
Clad in their robes of liquid gold ! 

Fanned by the sighing breeze, 
Angels beneath their shades sweet concerts hold. 

And O, the clouds ! how bright ! 
Rich as a cherub's burnished wing, 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 329 

Beaming with rays of light — 
The parting smile of day's reposing king. 

Spirits of love are here, 
Wrapped in the folds of twilight gloom ; 

Noiseless they hover near, 
Filling each nectar cup with sweet perfume. 



LESSON CLXX. 
The Women of Germany. 

Passing along one fine June morning, after a cordial fare- 
well from the landlady of the little hotel where I had stayed 
for two nights, I stretched along the right bank of the Rhine, 
through the midst of peaceful corn-fields, busy with labor- 
ers ; and even far up among the overhanging crags on 
either side, where the vine is cultured in baskets of earth, 
toilfully deposited in the crevices of the rock, the vine- 
dressers were busily engaged. Every little patch of land 
was tilled ; every rocky cleft, where a basket could stand, 
was occupied : indications of a diligent and industrious peo- 
ple. I saw no loungers at the village doors, nor ragged 
children at play in the gutters. The women who were not 
at work at home, were toiling in the fields or among the 
vines ; while the children of age were at the village schools. 
And it is a feature that cannot fail to strike the eye of the 
observant traveller in Germany, that the women do all the 
hard work. 

You see women, rough, tanned, unbeautiful, and coarsely 
dressed, doing the work of ploughmen, laborers, and vine- 
dressers. You see them tramping about in wooden* shoes, 
carrying heavy baskets of manure in the fields, loads of 
vegetable produce to market on their heads, and doing the 
animal labor of the community. They have very much the 
appearance of a slave class, not yet emancipated. How is 
this 1 You detect the secret of it at once when you reach 
a garrison town : it is crowded with soldiers, all of whom 
are drawn indiscriminately from the able-bodied population, 
by conscription, and are compelled to perform the period 



330 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

of military service. These men, who ought to have been 
cultivating these fields, are here idling away their time to- 
gether, in large masses, " playing at soldiers," while the 
poor women are left at home to till the earth, and do all 
the hard work. 

Another thing which surprised me very much was the 
little respect shown the Sabbath in Germany. True, 
there was mass said in the churches as early as three or 
four o'clock in the morning ; but by sunrise the meat- 
stores and market-houses in the towns through which I 
passed, were thronged with customers. About noon the 
military parades, accompanied by an incessant clangour, be- 
gan, drawing all the boys and girls in procession after 
them. At night, concerts, parties, and theatres were the 
rage. Dancing, singing, smoking, and a general hurra, 
characterized the performances till toward midnight, when, 
worn-out and exhausted, the people went home to sleep. 



LESSON CLXXI. 

Our Village. — W. J. Kearney. 

There's a cot in our village with ivy o'ergrown, 

In a sweet little valley, 'tis humble I own ; 

But to me it is lov ly, and dearer by far 

Than the halls of the great, for believe me there are 

Old ties of endearment that time cannot sever ; 

And thoughts that will live in this bosom forever 

Connected with thee, happy cot of my birth, 

That are sweeter to me than the pleasures of earth. 

There's a well in our village, and ah ! how I love 
To gaze — when the sky is all cloudless above — 
On its clear placid waters, to think on the past, 
And the changes I find, since I looked on it last ; 
I loved it in childhood, I've knelt at its brink 
Of its nectar to taste — how delightful the drink ; 
And though years have passed over, I cannot forget 
The joys of. my boyhood, I cherish them yet. 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 331 

There's a mill in our village, 'tis tenantless now, 
And mould'ring in ruins, neglected ; but how 
Can the eye that hath seen it in beauty, now gaze 
Unmoistened upon it, nor think of the days 
When we dreamed not of sorrow, but joyous and light, 
Let no thought of the morrow our merriment blight. 
I may weep for the past, but my tears bring no pain, 
And though sad, are so sweet, I would weep them again. 

There's a church in our village, and oft in the still 
Of a sweet Sabbath eve, have I stood on the hill 
That rises above it, to list to the sound 
Of the anthem of praise, while the echoes around 
Would waken a feeling that silently stole 
Like a foretaste of heaven, a ray to the soul 
To guide it to God. Ah ! I never can know 
A sweeter sensation wherever I go. 

There's a stone in that churchyard, ere now I have stood, 
And bedewed it with tears, for the kind and the good 
Are sleeping beneath it ; a mother that smiled 
In purest affection and love on her child ; 
A father, a brother, and sister are there, 
In that lonely spot sleeping, the loved and the fair. 
Nor can sorrow restore them ; no mourning or tears, 
Can bring back the friends of my earliest years. 

Here's a tear to their mem'ry, a prayer for their rest, 
A sigh for their loss, and a hope they are blessed ; 
That hope cheers our bosoms, a courage instils, 
That will bear us triumphant through sorrow and ills ; 
Though a cloud of regret with remembrance may rise, 
That hope will dispel it, and point to the skies, 
For 'tis there that enjoyment, unsullied with woe 3 
Will repay us for all we may suffer below. 



332 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

LESSON CLXXII. 
The Employment of Leisure Hours. — Rev. Daniel Smith. 

Most persons have a portion of time which they can em- 
ploy as they choose. This is more particularly the case 
with young men, unencumbered with the cares of a family, 
the responsibilities of professional life, or the conducting of 
business establishments. The studies of the school-room, 
the labors of. the sales-room, the work-shop, or the field, being 
ended, there is an hour in the summer evening, or a vacant 
half-day on Saturday, or a long winter evening, with an 
occasional holiday, to be spent as we please. These, in the 
aggregate, form no inconsiderable portion of each year; 
and these are not seldom the hours that make or ruin us. 

The student who spends them in riot, whether in the room 
of an idle and profligate fellow-student, or amid the excite- 
ments and debaucheries of a large and corrupt city — the 
clerk who hastily finishes his supper, that he may hasten 
to the saloon or bowling-alley — the apprentice, who speeds 
him to the bar-room or the oyster-saloon of the country vil- 
lage — or the young man who sits till ten or eleven o'clock 
at night, by the farm-house fire, reading the " Pirate's Own 
Book," or the latest translation from the pen of Eugene Sue 
or George Sand, feasting his soul on tales of ferocity, lust, 
or blood — will find these leisure hours his bane and curse : 
while he who spends them in the midst of elevating asso- 
ciations — in reading, seeing, and 'hearing what is worth 
reading, seeing, and hearing — will find them conducive to 
his pleasure, profit, and serenity. It was these leisure 
hours that raised William Gifford and Samuel Drew from 
the low abodes of poverty and ignorance, to the high walks 
of knowledge and honor. Thus rose Franklin, and Ritten- 
house, and Sherman. 

A glover's apprentice in Edinburgh resolved to qualify 
himself for a higher profession. The relative with whom 
he lived was very poor, and could not afford a candle, and 
scarcely a fire at night. As it was only after shop hours 
that this young man had leisure, he had no alternative but 
to go into the streets at night, and plant himself, with his 
book, near a shop window, the lights of which enabled him 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 333 

to read it ; and when they were put out, he used to climb 
a lamp-post, and hold on with the one hand, while he held 
his book with the other. That person lived to be one of 
the greatest oriental scholars in the world ; and the first 
book in Arabic printed in Scotland, was his production. 

Said the distinguished Chatham to his son : " I would 
have inscribed on the curtains of your bed, and the walls 
of your chamber — ' If you do not rise early, you can 
never make progress in anything. If you do not set apart 
your hours for reading — if you suffer yourself or any one 
else to break in upon them, your days will slip through your 
hands unprofitable and frivolous, and really unenjoyed by 
yourself.' " 

" Take care of the pence, and the pounds will take 
care of themselves," is the maxim of those who pursue 
wealth. " Take care of the minutes, and the hours will 
take care of themselves," should be the maxim of those 
who seek safety and desire knowledge. 



LESSON CLXXIII. 

The Value of Integrity in Business. — Rev. D. Wise. 

Let us enter yonder counting-room. A clerk is busy 
at the writing-desk. The merchant sits conversing at the 
table with a brother merchant. The porter calls the clerk 
from the counting-room. As the door closes, the visiting 
merchant inquires of his friend, " Is that your chief clerk, 
Mr. Grey V " Yes, sir. He is at the head of my estab- 
lishment," replies the merchant. " Indeed ! Are you not 
afraid to intrust so young a man with so high a responsi- 
bility V Mr. Grey smiles, and answers, " No, sir. That 
young man has my most implicit confidence. He has been 
with me from his boyhood. I have never known him to 
betray a single trust. He identifies his interests with mine. 
He abhors the idea of mercantile dishonesty in every aspect, 
and I would intrust him with uncounted gold." 

" You are fortunate in having such a clerk. Depend 
upon it, there are few such in our 'city," replies the mer- 
chant's friend, as, deeply musing, he retires from the 



334 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

counting-room. The conversation has strongly impressed 
his mind. He conducts an extensive business ; and, being 
somewhat advanced in life, is desirous of finding a young 
partner. The high commendation of Mr. Grey's clerk has 
fixed his attention. He resolves to observe him, and, at a 
suitable opportunity, if satisfied, secure his services. The 
result is, that the young clerk becomes first his partner, 
and subsequently the owner of the business ; thus securing 
profit and advancement, as the reward of his integrity. 

Now, I do not say that every young man of sound prin- 
ciples will be equally fortunate • because capacity, address, 
and other elements, must be combined, to insure such 
marked and signal elevation. Yet, I do not hesitate to af- 
firm, that every young man who resembles that clerk in 
his uprightness of character, may be sure of rising to a 
loftier height, in his profession, and to more enduring for- 
tune, than if his principles are loose, and his fidelity open 
to suspicion. 



LESSON CLXXIV. 

Jesus at the Tomh of Lazarus. — Mrs. R. S. Nichols. 

'Twas early spring : the green and leafy buds 

Were slow unfolding to the genial breeze ; 

The cloudy halls and air-hung palaces, 

Whose colored domes pierced far beyond the sight, 

Sailed smoothly o'er the blue lake of the skies, 

Or were reflected from fair Cedron's breast, 

Whose stream, fresh swollen by the heavy rains, 

Went murmuring onward through green Hinnom's vale. 

The winged zephyrs, and the charmed airs, 

Recalled from vineyards of far southern lands, 

Tossed the young leaves, and swayed the twisted vines, 

And ploughed slight furrows in the field of waves; 

Or, hiding deep in the o'er-canopied wood, 

Sent from their secret haunts Eolian tones, 

In breezy syllables of youth and love. 

The sun rose up behind Mount Olivet, 
And shot its arrows of serenest gold 



PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 335 

Among the branches of the jewelled trees, 
That held the dews within their emerald leaves — 
The tears of night — the diamonds of morn ! 
Anon, it poured its lambent fires upon 
The gilded domes and carved capitals, 
That crowned the columns in the city aisles ; 
Looked down on Bethany, and Lazarus dead ; 
Saw Martha's grief, and gentle Mary's tears, 
And showered its glories on the Saviour's head, 
Who stood beside the sealed and cavernous tomb. 

" Dear Lord," 'twas thus the weeping sister spake, 
" Hadst thou been here, my brother had not died !" 
And fell low at his feet. 

Then " Jesus wept !" 
O, light, that from yon fount perpetual flows ! 
Thou regal sun, bright, burning eye of day ! 
Thou fiery planet of the azure fields ! 
Thou blazing jewel in the world's broad zone ! 
Centre of systems, star of the Eternal's crown, 
Didst thou behold, in thy " swift course," unmoved, 
Tears — tears of woe — flow from the " Lamb of God ?" 

And Jesus wept ! " Behold," they sadly said, 

" How much he loves — he weeps for Lazarus dead !" 

Thus do we give to our best loved our tears, 

Which have been blest and sanctified of Heaven ; 

The drops of tenderness that spring from hearts 

Steeped in the gall of bitterness and woe ; 

And still we hear, " Behold, how much they love !" 

Affection, measured by the tear-drops shed 

Above the weeds that cling around our graves. 

O, meek and holy sufferer ! that didst weep, 
With thy large human heart and human eyes ! 
Divinity shrunk back when grief laid hold 
Of thy man nature, and its violence shook 
The form that held the pitying Son of God ! 
'Twas but a moment ; for the Father breathed 
Upon the spirit of his Son ; he raised 
His streaming eyes to heaven, and with that voice, 
Whose tones could pierce the universe, and shake 



336 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 

The trembling earth from its foundations deep, 
He loosed the bonds of death, and bade the grave 
Yield up its victory. 

Then, bursting from the trammels of the tomb. 

Wrapt in his cerements white, without a stain 

Of death upon him, lo, one came ! the seal 

Of silence fell from off his living lips ; 

The "eternal law of ceaseless change" was stayed; 

Death shrunk abashed — his terrors quickly fled, 

And life rushed gently through the icy veins : 

The house, abandoned by the tenant-soul, 

Again received its lord ; " the dome refit" 

Was peopled by the ministers of thought, 

Whose flaming tongues leaped on before the words 

Could frame themselves upon the pallid lips ! 

The cherubim and seraphim beheld ; 

The sun, the skies, the mount o'erlooked ; the winds 

Whispered the story to the listening waves ; 

And through the caves that yawned along the vale 

There died in echo the soul-quickening words : 

" I am the resurrection and the life ; 

Whoso believeth in my name, though dead, 

Shall live again to everlasting life !" 



THE END. 



o •,«*,«»■ 








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